In the camps and temporary shelters scattered across the Balkans, time moves differently. Days blur into weeks, weeks into months. For refugees waiting on asylum decisions, it can feel as though life has been paused between two worlds — the one left behind, and the one that refuses to open its doors. In an abandoned factory in Bosnia, families live behind plastic sheets and blankets hung as makeshift walls. Children play with whatever they find — a plastic bottle, a torn football — while their parents queue for food distributions or meet with NGO workers. Many have applied for asylum in several countries, only to be pushed back again and…

Along the narrow roads of the Balkans, far from tourist trails and city centers, there are quieter paths — the kind that don’t appear on any official map. These are the silent routes, walked by people carrying all their belongings in a backpack. Men, women and children move through forests, abandoned train lines and river crossings, trying to reach a better place, where safety feels possible and, maybe, feel like home. Every few kilometers, you may find traces of their journey: a lost shoe, a torn blanket, a note written in Arabic or Dari and tucked under a rock. For many, this passage through the Balkans is just one chapter…