A woman draped in a saree stepped out from the alley

While walking through Dhaka, I sometimes stumble upon the most unexpected scenes. Take, for instance, this alleyway entrance in the photo. At the threshold stood a woman draped in a saree, who looked almost like a sentinel, her gaze fixed on the street as if guarding it. From the dim passageway behind her, a younger woman emerged. No words passed between them, yet in the silence of their exchanged glances there lingered a certain tension—something that felt unique to the restless heart of Bangladesh’s capital.

In Bangladesh, the saree is the most common garment for women, also worn widely in India and Nepal, though the way it is wrapped and the choice of patterns often vary by region. Wandering through Dhaka’s markets and alleyways, these subtle differences become visible. A signboard in Bengali script was nailed to a pillar at the entrance, indecipherable to me as a traveler. The looping, curved characters—so unlike the Latin alphabet—were enough on their own to remind me that I was very far from home.

An alleyway entrance is often a microcosm of the city itself. Slip through the narrow gap and an entirely different world may unfold: the chaos of a market, or the quiet pulse of everyday life. Confronted by the sharp gaze of the saree-clad woman, however, I found myself unable to summon the courage to step inside, and instead walked past. Yet perhaps travel is nothing more than a series of such small hesitations—moments spent wavering at thresholds, deciding whether to enter or retreat.