Zoya Mirza Chapter 1: The Clocktower and the Chaos The air in Old Delhi is not something you breathe—it’s something you step into, like a dense fog of memory, spice, and relentless sound. I surfaced from the depths of the Chawri Bazar metro station like a diver breaching the past. The escalator groaned under the weight of a hundred lives and then spat me out into a world that felt more alive than anything I had known in years. The street outside buzzed like an old radio dialed between frequencies. Rickshaws honked as if they were in competition. Men with…
