My_Hobby_My_Passion/Layla

The morning sun beat down mercilessly on the cracked, sun-baked asphalt of the old highway, casting long, sharp shadows across the skeleton of a long-abandoned city. Layla adjusted the strap of her weathered leather side bag, letting out a quiet breath as she paused in the doorway of a half-collapsed concrete block. The air smelled of hot dust, rust, and the lingering dry heat of the wasteland. To anyone else, this place was just a graveyard of the old world—a labyrinth of jagged rebar, shattered bricks, and buried secrets. To Layla, it was home. She tucked a stray strand of short, dusty red h

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