It’s the man from Yassim’s apartment, Jacob is sure of it despite the distance. He has an innate authority in the way he moves, a commanding presence. He appears to be in his fifties and is wearing an expensive, dark-blue suit. His thick white hair is carefully combed back over his head. When he turns and looks up the street Jacob flinches. It feels as if the man is looking straight into him, as if he knows who Jacob is, what he’s waiting for. A shiny black Mercedes with blue diplomatic plates stops. The man lowers his phone, jumps into the back seat, and disappears into the throbbing stream of Beirut traffic.

Jacob stays on the wall, slowly drinking his coke. He thinks about Myriam and the first time he saw Yassim on the terrace in Mar Mikhael. He thinks of the photograph that was leaning against the wall of Yassim’s room, and he thinks of Yassim’s naked body. He thinks about the man he just saw, his remarkably white hair, and how nothing is simple here in Beirut, nothing is what it seems.

He puts his drink on the wall next to him and stands up, restless and suddenly afraid. It’s as if he’s looking at himself and his situation from the outside: a naive Swede falls in love with somebody he doesn’t know. He’s neither experienced nor gifted enough to handle the situation with Yassim and Myriam.

He pushes his fingers through his hair and turns away from Yassim’s building, takes a step up towards Hamra, back to his normal life, away from folly and risk.

Then his phone rings again.

‘Where are you?’ Yassim asks.

Jacob stops. He gulps, closes his eyes, feels his blood become light, lighter than air, lifting him, his whole body, up above traffic and conflict and confusion, up above Beirut, out above everything that’s impossible to understand, up to something that’s only emotion, only instinct, lust and trembling excitement.

‘I’m here,’ Jacob replies. ‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’

*

Afterwards, they lie naked in Yassim’s white sheets on his low bed in his empty bedroom. Jacob feels Yassim’s arm around his shoulders, feels himself being pulled close and kissed. Lightly this time, not rough and relentless like a few moments ago.

‘Have you missed me?’ Yassim asks, his lips still against Jacob’s.

Jacob presses closer to Yassim, lets his tongue wander inside his mouth again. He’s getting hard again, even though it’s been just minutes since he emptied himself into Yassim’s hot, waiting mouth.

‘Yes,’ he moans. ‘I thought you were never coming back.’

Yassim pulls away and holds Jacob’s hand in his own. The regretful sadness that Jacob saw last time – which feels like an eternity ago – is back.

‘But I did,’ he says. ‘It’s impossible to stay away from you.’