Muhammad al-Masri, 75, spent the Syrian war in a house he describes as being on the frontline with death.
In his partly roofless, cobweb-filled house on the line between the formerly rebel-held eastern Ghouta district of Jobar and the government, al-Masri stayed put through years of conflict.
"Many said I was crazy. … Everyone fled," he says.
But since the fighting ended three weeks ago, a trickle of life has returned to the war-ravaged, deserted streets around him.
The Syrian government, backed by Russia and Iran, regained eastern Ghouta, an area of farms and towns just outside Damascus, in early April in a ferocious assault.
The army offensive to capture it, heralded by one of the heaviest bombardments in the seven-year war, killed more than 1,600 people, according to war monitor the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights.
Today, the sound of mortars exploding around al-Masri has been replaced with the sound of voices.
"Listen!" he says, as the sound of girls singing a traditional Syrian song reaches him. "Life has returned to the neighborhood."
Former residents are starting to come back, hoping to see what years of grinding warfare have done to their homes.
Near al-Masri's house, soldiers yell at children and teenagers to stop exploring the barricades, trenches and war debris that were previously off-limits to them.
Most of the Jobar district is still uninhabited. Classified as a security zone by the Syrian army, the streets are strewn with destroyed buildings, bullets and explosives.
Underground, the army is still discovering a network of tunnels used by eastern Ghouta's fighters and smugglers during years of siege.
Al-Masri's house was the last inhabited position in his neighborhood before a bank of earth marked Damascus' frontline with Jobar.
The house, shared at times with his son and daughter-in-law, was shelled three times. His son sustained shrapnel injuries in one incident.
"The mortars fell while I was inside. I didn't leave. We cleaned up and sat back down," he said.
"I lived here alongside death and didn't die."
Al-Masri's house was surrounded by Syrian government security forces, who would bring him food. He spent his days sweeping war debris from the streets around him, watching television and telephoning family.
In the early days of the conflict, he was scared and unsure of what might happen.
"For more than a month, I slept with my shoes on, fully alert," he recalls.
Jobar adjoins government-held central Damascus. Parts of Jobar are just 500 meters (a third of a mile) from one of Damascus' most famous public spaces, Abbasid Square.
Although Damascus has remained largely peaceful during the seven-year conflict, the proximity of formerly rebel-held areas like Jobar to the capital means rockets at times killed and wounded people in the city.
"I didn't take a single step from here. Not at night, not during the day. There were just 10 meters between me and the tanks. I was the only one in this area, no other buildings, no nothing. Me and the army were like brothers," al-Masri says.
