.The Forgotten Pages The city was alive that evening, though the sun was tired. It hung low in the sky, scattering orange light across the crowded streets of Ahmedabad. The smell of roasted peanuts and frying pakoras drifted through the bazaar, mingling with the dust that rose from hurried footsteps. Stalls stood in rows like impatient storytellers, each one eager to draw attention—bright sarees fluttering in the wind, cheap jewelry twinkling under fading sunlight, and second-hand books stacked in untidy heaps.