The warm glow of the accent lights flickered against the polished tile floor as Mia (imagined name) wandered through the bustling stalls, her fingers brushing against delicate trinkets and fabric totes adorned with playful images of cats. The scent of spices and fresh pastries lingered in the air, mingling with the noir of soft hum of chatter and laughter from both locals and tourists alike. I was here, years ago, yet its as fresh as that scent of fresh pastry. The wooden carts overflowing with hidden treasures, each whispering stories of Singapore’s vibrant soul.
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