Morning in the old quarter of the city never arrived suddenly, because it crept in slowly through narrow streets and tired buildings, slipping through cracked windows and dusty doors as if the sunlight itself understood that this part of the city had learned to live quietly, without expecting too much from the world beyond its worn walls. The air often carried the faint scent of clay, smoke, and rain that had long ago soaked into the ground, and for people who had spent their entire lives there, that scent felt almost like a memory that refused to fade.
Morning in the old quarter of the city never arrived suddenly, because it crept in slowly through narrow streets and tired buildings, slipping through cracked windows and dusty doors as if the sunlight itself understood that this part of the city had learned to live quietly, without expecting too...