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Sunday, March 1, 2026 – 10:35 PM Location: Block 15, Gulistan-e-Johar, Karachi I just picked up my phone and saw a notification from a group chat I muted hours ago. It turns out a few friends were at Millennium Mall earlier and were asking if I wanted to join them for a late dinner at Kababjees. Part of me wishes I’d gone, but honestly, the thought of navigating the Sunday night crowd near Rashid Minhas Road was enough to keep me on my sofa. Since I stayed in, I’ve been looking around my room. It’s my little sanctuary in the middle of the Jauhar madness. I have a small fairy-light string draped over my mirror—the kind you find at the local shops near Samama Shopping Arena. It gives the room this warm, golden glow that hides the cracks in the plaster that the landlord keeps promising to fix. On my nightstand, next to my journal, is a half finished glass of water and a stack of books. I also have a small succulent I bought from a nursery near Safoora Chowrangi; I’m surprised it’s still alive given how much dust gets in through the balcony door. It feels good to be still. I can hear a distant wedding band playing probably coming from one of the banquets near Al-Shaheer. That’s the thing about living here: you’re never truly alone, even when you’re by yourself. — Mushk