I left the office around midday. Earlier in the morning, I had visited two polling centers in the Rampura area. The long queues and calm environment suggested that the tone for the day had already been set. Still, I felt it was important to step out again in the afternoon to see how things looked as voting progressed.

Dhaka felt unusually empty. A rickshaw puller had told me the previous day, “I’ve seen many elections since independence, but I’ve never seen the city this deserted.” It felt almost like Eid — people had returned to their hometowns, leaving the capital quiet.

Riding through the streets, I passed Dhaka University and eventually reached Old Dhaka. On the way, I met a first-time voter — Khondkar Golam Mowla, a student of Dhaka University. He told me he had been too excited to sleep the night before. He even called friends in the morning to ask how exactly to cast his ballot. The enthusiasm of a new voter is something special to witness.

With winter nearly over and spring approaching, the call of a cuckoo echoed near Curzon Hall. The day was bright and pleasant. But as I entered Nazira Bazar in Old Dhaka, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The narrow lanes were alive. Though most shops were closed and even the usual aroma of kacchi biryani was absent, people had poured into the streets. It felt festive.

Groups of elders chatted on one side of the road; young people gathered elsewhere. Lines formed in front of polling stations, yet there was no pushing or chaos — just quiet order. Law enforcement officers remained alert, and army patrols passed through regularly, sometimes slowed by crowds filling the tight alleyways.

By around 2:00 p.m., polling centers elsewhere might have been quieter. But Old Dhaka has its own rhythm. At a madrasa-turned polling station tucked inside a narrow building, the presiding officer explained that mornings are slow there. “People here stay up late,” he said with a smile. “They wake up late. That’s why afternoons are busier.”

Outside, I spoke with several women waiting in line. Nilufar Yasmin said she had been registered for years but was voting for the first time. “Before, there wasn’t an environment where I felt I could vote properly,” she explained.

Hunger eventually led me on a search for food. Visiting Old Dhaka without tasting kacchi or tehari felt incomplete. After wandering through a few streets, I found a shop operating half-open, offering takeaway only. Standing outside, I enjoyed a simple plate of neighborhood-style tehari. Someone joked that this might be the only election where you have to pay for tehari near a polling station — a humorous reminder of changing times.

Later, I visited Bir Sreshtho Matiur Rahman High School, one of the area’s largest polling centers. Two large buildings and a field stood inside the gate. Long lines stretched before nearly every booth. An overseas businessman, Masud Rana, told me he had voted many times before but had never experienced such a peaceful and orderly process.

Inside, I saw diverse faces of voters. Sonia Akter arrived with her madrasa-going child, dressed in a burqa and niqab. Behind her stood Setara Rani, wearing traditional bangles and sindoor. When I asked to take her photo, she adjusted her sari modestly as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the window behind her, creating a striking scene.

Upstairs, I met two women from the nearby sweeper community — Saraswati and Chanda Rani. Saraswati wore a new sari and a nose ring, her face lit with determination. “I never miss a vote,” she said firmly. “No one can scare me away. Whatever happens, happens.” Her words reflected both resilience and hope.

At another polling station near the Fire Service headquarters, I met Meherab Hossain, a software engineer working at BRAC. He had voted elsewhere and was waiting while his wife cast her ballot. He admitted he skipped voting in 2024 because he believed the outcome was predetermined. “This time feels different,” he said.

Inside the compound, young voters took photos of their inked fingers, ready to post them on Facebook. Lipi Begum shared that she had once arrived at a polling center only to discover her vote had already been cast. “Today I voted peacefully. It feels good,” she said.

As voting hours drew to a close around 4:00 p.m., I headed back through Dhaka University. Near Shahbagh, I stopped at the grave of National Poet Kazi Nazrul Islam. Nearby rests Osman Hadi, the young leader who became widely known during the 2024 mass uprising and was later killed.

Even on election day, people stood in line to offer prayers at Hadi’s grave. Some wept quietly. Hasibul Hasan, a businessman who had known Hadi, said, “If he were alive, he would have run from this constituency. He fought for democracy and a fair election. He gave his life.” His four-year-old daughter stood beside him, holding flowers and wearing a mask printed with the national flag.

Hadi had generated excitement during the campaign period before being fatally shot shortly after the election schedule was announced. His death sparked controversy and unrest, including attacks on major media outlets. For many, his absence was deeply felt on this day of voting.

As I returned to the office, the visits to polling stations ended, and the waiting began. Who would win? Who would lose? And what shape would the country’s democratic journey take from here?