Htoo Maung sits down to lunch, sharing a bowl of traditional noodle soup with old friends, an ordinary act that has become extraordinary in Myanmar's Rakhine state -- because he is Muslim, and they are Buddhist.
They used to live side by side as neighbours. But now he can only visit them under a strict curfew enforced by armed guards before he must return to the muddy camp where he and the rest of Kyaukphyu town's Muslims have been confined for seven years.
In 2012 inter-communal unrest swept through swathes of western Myanmar, including Htoo Maung's home town, after allegations spread that a Buddhist woman had been raped by Muslim men.
Mobs ransacked homes and police rounded up Muslims for their "own safety" to sites that would later be turned into camps.
More than 200 died, tens of thousands were displaced and the stage was set for the bloody purge of hundreds of thousands of Rohingya Muslims in northern Rakhine five years later.
Many fear the enduring deep sectarian suspicions and religious divisions are irrevocable and authorities claim any attempt to reintegrate communities could trigger new unrest.
More From This Section
But some Muslims in Kyaukphyu have managed to maintain a cautious relationship with Buddhist friends, raising hopes that old communal bonds may not be completely severed.
"The people from the town didn't attack us," Htoo Maung says, suggesting outsiders were to blame.
Kyaukphyu ethnic Rakhine MP Kyaw Than insists his town is ready to welcome the Muslims back, but can only do so with the government's green light.
"Everyone in the camp is a citizen," he says, decrying the "lack of humanity" shown to the town's Muslim population.
But there is no forgetting the new social order.
Htoo Maung, whose name has been changed to protect his identity, and the other Muslims from the camp are only permitted to visit town for two hours at a time under the chaperone of weapon-wielding police.
He is bereft at the loss of his old life.
"I feel so sad -- I never imagined this could happen." Htoo Maung tells AFP, as he looks at the overgrown patch of land where his house once stood.
He adds: "We are not illegal."
"It's just like a prison," says camp leader Phyu Chay of his current 'home', adding: "There are no jobs and we struggle to get hold of proper medication."