But Yassim leans over, and grabs the computer out of Jacob’s hands. ‘Okay, okay,’ he says. ‘If you’re so fucking curious then you might as well see. But only a few.’

Jacob nods and moves his chair closer to him. For a moment he thought there were no pictures. That there was only this blinding passion, Myriam’s version, and guns taped under tables.

Yassim’s fingers fly over the keyboard, putting in his password, and Jacob focuses on memorizing what he types. Just numbers. 201207… He doesn’t see the last two. Fuck!

The background is a solid blue. There’s only one nameless folder on the desktop. Yassim quickly clicks on a Photoshop icon in the dock and the screen fills with tiny pictures. He also finds a folder on the left side that Jacob didn’t see at first and clicks on it. Eight thumbnail images appear on the screen and he clicks on the first one. It’s of a small, dirty boy sitting in the back of a truck with a blank stare. Around him is only rubble and ruins.

‘Western Aleppo,’ Yassim says, and clicks on the next picture.

A house that’s lost its whole front wall, so that you can see straight into people’s apartments, like a doll’s house. Armchairs and sofas and beds. Yassim enlarges the image.

‘The table was still set,’ he says.

He shows a few more pictures of civilians, ordinary people in the midst of indescribable destruction and misery. Then he stands up and shares the rest of the coffee between them.

Jacob takes out his phone and takes a picture of what’s on the screen. ‘Terrible,’ he says. ‘I honestly don’t understand how you have the strength to face it. Or the bravery to go there.’

‘What are you doing?’ Yassim says and turns around. ‘Stop taking fucking pictures of the screen, okay?’ His voice is suddenly empty again, like the first time Jacob was here. Like when he said if he had secrets he’d hide them better.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jacob says. ‘I’m deleting them. I didn’t know I couldn’t, just wanted something of yours.’ Was that the reason he was photographing them?

‘Delete them,’ Yassim says. ‘The resolution is shitty, and they haven’t been published yet.’

Jacob opens the Photos app on his phone, marks the pictures and holds his thumb above the trash icon. But he doesn’t press. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have to ask me first,’ Yassim says. He’s at Jacob’s side now, staring into his eyes. He slowly bends forward and grabs Jacob’s chin hard. ‘We’re not married, no matter how much you like me. Do you understand?’