Nader (24) and Lina (25) put their smartphones in a paper bag on the evening of October 8th 2023. Then both took hammers and smashed them. They broke the sim cards, melted the pieces into a little ball. Stuck the ball onto a dirt cheap aluminium ring for Lina. A bit of avant-garde jewelry in Gaza.

Saturday and Sunday they had spent with their respective families. Nobody knew they were a couple. All weekend they were hugging everyone tighter than ever before. Saying kinder words. Making more eye contact. Praising the food more. Being generous with their presence.

On Monday they went underground. In a Roman catacomb Nader had discovered working in the garden of a wealthier family back in 2017. ‘This is the most useless piece of land I own’, the owner had said. ‘Nothing ever grows here.’ Nader’s job had been to put a terrace on that part of the garden. That’s how he found an ancient staircase. Other than to Lina he’s never told a soul about it.

On the night from the 8th to the 9th they jumped over a wall. Avoiding spikes. Nader knew which tiles to lift. And down they went.

Both were carrying over 40 kg of supplies each. They both had aching shoulders for weeks and marks from where the shoulder straps clawed into their skin.

For three years they have come out only at night. And they do steal to survive… But take only what looks abandoned.

The large family house is now abandoned.

A squad of IDF soldiers briefly occupied it in early 2024. Covered it all in toilet paper. Like some prank in an American teen movie. The toilet paper came in handy.

They have each other. They have the collected works of Charles Dickens. In their isolation they sometimes see his characters dance around them.

They have blankets and each other’s warmth. They have batteries and lamps. They have their tender, delicate ways to avoid pregnancy. Some tricks to keep mold from creeping into their bags of dried fruits, nuts and seeds.

There are discomforts, but the only troublesome is not knowing where their families are now.

They did leave them notes.

‘I am with the person I belong to. No matter where we are, there is life. Our only sorrow is your sorrow, so please never ever worry about us.’

The safest, happiest place in all of Gaza was among some Roman artistocrafic skeletons.

They do miss coffee, day light and hot showers. They wash in a garden shed at night, with a garden hose.

In the morning, every morning, he gently cups her relatively small, but pert breasts, and whispers: ‘My first cup of cappuchino and my second cup of cappuchino.’