In the morning, when the city wakes up and the world begins its routine, she is just falling asleep. Her night ends when others begin their day. She draws the curtains shut, not to block the sun, but to block the shame. A call girl doesn’t sleep peacefully. Her dreams are filled with faces — men who came and left, hands that touched without feeling, words that never meant anything. She wakes up in sweat sometimes, not from fear, but from the deep loneliness that even silence cannot comfort.