The summer in Karachi had broken every record, a relentless furnace that turned the city into a breathing inferno. The air outside was thick with sulphur, each inhalation a dry, choking gulp that seemed to scorch the throat before it even reached the lungs. Sunlight hammered the streets with a white‑hot glare, making the asphalt shimmer and vibrate as if the very ground were trying to melt away.

Heat rose in visible waves, distorting the silhouettes of rickshaws and the distant outline of the Arabian Sea into trembling mirages. Sweat clung to skin the moment it appeared, evaporating instantly, leaving a salty crust that prickled like fine sand. The city pulsed with a low, oppressive hum, a collective sigh of exhaustion that rose from every balcony, every crowded market, every exhausted laborer who dared to step outside.