The warm, humid night tumbles into the dry, air-conditioned apartment as they head out onto the terrace. Outside it still feels like Beirut, the trash and exhaust and the traffic, albeit muted. It feels safe and Jacob leans over the railing and stares down onto the streets below.

‘Do you live here?’ he says. ‘You don’t have much furniture.’

Yassim is standing next to him now, close enough to catch a whiff of his fragrance and some kind of crackling, leaping electricity. But not close enough to touch him.

‘I don’t need much,’ Yassim says. ‘I’m not here very often.’

‘How…’ Jacob begins, but he’s unsure what’s allowed, what he’s entitled to ask.

‘What?’ Yassim says.

‘Well,’ Jacob begins. ‘How can you afford to live here? I heard that only Dubai businessmen live in these newly built condos.’

Yassim says nothing at first. Then he turns around, takes Jacob by the hand, and leads him back into the apartment.

‘How do you know I’m not from Dubai?’ he says quietly.

Jacob sits on one of the chairs at the table in the big room, and Yassim asks him to wait there while he takes care of something further into the apartment. The lights from the surrounding buildings glitter outside, and it occurs to Jacob that he’s completely unprotected here, anyone can see inside. He looks around, and it’s hard to imagine anyone living in such an open and clean and completely transparent way.

He spins around in his chair, clicks restlessly and curiously at the computer, which quietly wakes up, the screen turning on. He doesn’t know anything about Yassim. Just that he speaks English with an American accent and that the little he’s heard of his Arabic doesn’t sound like he’s from the Gulf. More like he’s from Lebanon or Syria. Should he suggest that they speak Arabic instead? He’d like to get better at Arabic, but it takes so much goddamn effort, and it makes him tired just thinking about it.

The computer is password-protected, but he can just make out a blurry background image behind the dialogue box. Jacob squints. It’s a picture of a big family, ten, maybe twelve people. Adults and children dressed in nice clothes. Suits with colourful shirts and ties. Shimmering silk dresses and a lot of make-up. One of the women has red flowers in her arms, a veil, a white dress. It’s a bride, and this is a wedding photo with her entire family. Is it Yassim’s family?

Jacob looks up and sees Yassim on the other side of the room with a large, framed painting in one hand. He puts it down with its subject against the wall.

‘Come here,’ he says.

*