Ayesha had grown up in the crowded lanes of the old city, where every wall held a story, and every story was whispered in a dialect that blended Punjabi vigor with Urdu's poetic sighs. Her mother, a seamstress whose hands stitched saris with a precision that could coax patterns out of plain cotton, taught her the art of patience. Her father, a schoolteacher who vanished when she was t... https://callgirllahore.website/