Chapter 1: The City That Never Stops
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It was nearly 7:30 a.m. when the buses started to clog the main road near Karwan Bazar, their horns merging into the chaotic symphony of a Dhaka morning. A tea vendor on the corner shouted over the noise, balancing a stack of plastic cups on one hand and pouring piping hot tea with the other. The sky was already hazy with early heat and exhaust.
Rafi stood in front of his office building, backpack slung over one shoulder and resignation letter folded in his back pocket. The worn-out glass doors reflected his hesitant face — one part tired, another part free. He hadn't slept well the night before. Not from anxiety, but from thinking too much.
A passing rickshaw brushed close to his side, and he took a step back.
"Bhai, careful," the driver muttered without stopping.
Rafi looked up at the blue sign of "NextCall Digital Solutions." The letters were fading. Just like his interest in what waited inside.
His phone buzzed. It was Farzana Apa from HR.
[Where are you? We have the morning meeting now.]
He sighed and replied.
[On my way. Just stopping by to drop something.]
He entered the building one last time.
The office looked the same as always. Thin walls, cheap desks, and too many swivel chairs for a company that barely made profit. He walked past the marketing team's area, past his desk with the slow desktop computer and the half-broken headphone set he never got replaced. No one noticed him.
He stepped into Farzana Apa's office, placed the envelope on her desk.
She looked up, surprised. "You're resigning?"
He nodded.
"You didn't mention anything before. You sure about this, Rafi?"
"I've been sure for a while," he said softly. "I want to do something different. Travel. Document life out there. Maybe start a YouTube channel."
Farzana raised her eyebrows. "That's not a stable income, you know. You just started here."
"I know. But I'm not doing it for money. Not yet."
She didn't push. Just nodded. "Well… Good luck then. Don't forget us when you get famous."
Rafi smiled, a little awkwardly. "I won't."
By 9:00 a.m., he was out of the building, walking through the heart of Dhaka with nowhere urgent to be. The freedom felt strange. He stopped by a roadside tea stall, ordered a cup, and sat on a narrow wooden bench facing the street.
The tea was too sweet, but comforting.
In front of him, life moved fast — a contrast to how slow his thoughts were.
"What now?" he murmured to himself.
He had a Canon DSLR that he bought second-hand from Elephant Road, two batteries, one tripod, and a mid-range Xiaomi phone with cracked edges. His YouTube channel had 41 subscribers — most of them friends and cousins. His first video was an unedited timelapse of Dhaka traffic from his rooftop. It had 62 views in four months.
It wasn't impressive. Not yet.
But he had something most didn't: time and a willingness to start.
He took out a small pocket notebook he carried and flipped to the first page:
VLOG PLAN - PHASE 1:
Old Dhaka Streets
Lalbagh Fort
Street Food Series
Sadarghat Morning Ferry Life
Rickshaw Painter Interviews
Kamalapur Railway Vlog
Then: Srimangal / Sylhet Trip
He had written the list two weeks ago.
He opened his backpack, pulled out the camera, and tightened the strap around his hand. The battery was 82%. Enough to begin.
He turned to the tea seller. "Bhai, can I film a little here?"
The man laughed. "Ami ki hero? (Am I a hero?)"
"Just you making tea. People outside Bangladesh love seeing this kind of thing."
"Then film. But make me look handsome, ha?"
Rafi smiled and hit 'record'.
The camera wasn't steady — his hands still lacked that natural rhythm of a seasoned vlogger. But he took a few shots — the bubbling tea, the boiling milk pot, the seller's amused grin. Simple things. Real things.
He spent the next hour walking through narrow alleys of Old Dhaka, camera in hand, eyes scanning everything. Stray cats, faded murals, old men playing cards under half-broken rooftops — all ordinary, yet so full of life.
At Chawkbazar, he stood still watching a vendor set up a stall of colorful pickles.
"Don't film me without permission," the man snapped.
"Sorry," Rafi said immediately, lowering the camera.
"Tourist?" the man asked after a pause.
"No, local. I'm starting a vlog."
The vendor grunted. "Everyone wants to be YouTuber now."
Rafi laughed politely. "Maybe. But I just want to tell stories. The kind that don't make it to the news."
The man looked at him, thoughtful for a moment, then pointed to a massive glass jar filled with bright red mango pickles. "This one's the bestseller. Been making it since before you were born."
"Can I film you talking about it?"
This time, the vendor nodded.
Back home in Mirpur that night, Rafi sat on the floor, cross-legged in front of his old laptop. The editing software lagged every ten minutes, but he managed to cut together a rough 2-minute video. It wasn't perfect — there were shaky shots and awkward transitions — but it felt real.
He titled it: "A Cup of Tea and a Dream – Vlog 001"
Description: My first step. Street tea stall in Dhaka. Nothing big, just beginning.
Tags: #bangladeshtravel #vlog #dhaka
He clicked upload.
Then sat back, breathing out long.
It was a small step. A slow start. But something had shifted.
He wasn't waiting for life to change anymore.
He had decided to walk through it, one story at a time.
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