There’s something about the silence that feels almost suspicious at first. A sort of soft hum that replaces the usual roar. Fewer honks, fewer screeches. Fewer Lamborghinis with loud exhausts idling outside cafés. In Dubai, this eerie hush can only mean one thing: summer has arrived.

To the untrained eye or ear, it might appear that the city has decamped entirely. Indeed, much of it has. Between the months of late June and early September, a sizeable proportion of Dubai’s residents flee for cooler climes: Lebanon’s breezy mountains, London’s mild drizzle or the Swiss lakes if you’re in the private-jet set. What they leave behind is a city that suddenly feels as though it’s exhaling.

But for those of us staying put, it’s not all that bad. In fact, it’s oddly delightful. The roads, which during the rest of the year resemble a scene from Mad Max, are now serene, forgiving stretches of tarmac. I can cruise down Sheikh Zayed Road without being cut off by a window-tinted Range Rover hurrying to brunch. And here’s a novelty: the green light doesn’t disappear before my foot touches the pedal.

Even in my apartment block, the signs of summer are unmistakable. Many of the flashy cars; Ferraris, G Wagons and Porsches are tucked under protective covers like prized race horses stabled for the season. Their owners, presumably somewhere in Saint-Tropez or sipping espressos in Milan, have gone, leaving behind a quieter car park and the dissipating scent of cologne in the elevators.

Of course, the city takes full advantage of this lull in human activity. Entire swathes of junctions are transformed into giant pits, with armies of construction workers (bless them, truly) chiselling and drilling under the scorching sun to birth a new flyover or two. If I’m unlucky, my perfectly calm route to work one morning might suddenly resemble a Formula 1 obstacle course the next. But even this has a certain rhythm to it – a kind of summer waltz between detours and diversions.

Malls, the great air-conditioned cathedrals of Dubai, are blessedly less chaotic too. No more queueing for a table at a café that insists on serving lattes with smoke machines. The luxury of browsing in peace, even lingering near a Dior window display without being elbowed by a tourist, is one of the true pleasures of the off-season.

Restaurants, meanwhile, become infinitely more accommodating. That table at Gaia? Available. A booth at LPM? Take your pick. There’s no need to drop the “Do you know who I know?” line when booking, or call in a favour via a friend who once worked PR for the joint. The city’s culinary circuit, usually booked solid from 18.00 to midnight, suddenly has space for spontaneity. And the waiters? Positively unhurried, chatty even.

Then there’s the swimming pool, the sacred refuge of sun-seeking residents. Come September, it will once again echo with the shrieks and cannonballs of excitable children. But now, in the searing summer haze, the pool is quiet. No rubber ducks. No iPads blaring cartoons. Just the soft ripple of water and maybe a business podcast in the background (this is Dubai, after all).

Evenings bring their own charm. With fewer social obligations, there’s time to stroll along the harbour without having to dodge selfie sticks or e-scooters. It might be humid and a bit sticky but the pace slows. The city, usually so obsessed with hyper-productivity, seems to grant itself permission to unwind.

Of course, this summer spell doesn’t last. The school term will soon restart, alongside Whatsapp groups pinging with flight confirmations. Instagram will once again fill with sun-kissed returnees declaring themselves “back in the sandpit”. But for now, I’m enjoying the stillness – the polite traffic, the empty malls, the peaceful swimming pools – as though it were a local secret whispered under the hum of the AC.

Summer in Dubai is sweltering but it’s also oddly soothing. For those of us who stick around, it’s a rare glimpse of the city unfiltered – quiet, comfortable and maybe even a little bit cool.