The world outside seems numb. The fine rain scratches the windows in a gentle, monotonous rhythm. The interior of the flat is bathed in a cold but peaceful light. Jude is already awake, sitting on the edge of the unmade bed in the living room, elbows on his knees, eyes resting on a small Dictaphone in his hand. He presses play. A voice comes out - his own, recorded the day before : "If you're listening to this, you've forgotten. Take a breath. You're at Emma's. You're OK. You're not alone."

You open your eyes slowly. The voice comes to you as if through a tunnel. You don't know what exactly you've forgotten, but something is weighing on you. You look around you: the wall, the plant by the window, the two mugs on the coffee table. Without turning towards you, Jude speaks to you, having heard you arrive.

"You slept soundly. You were talking in your sleep... about your old flat, I think. You said you were looking for your plants."

He finally turns his head and looks at you with a shy, tired but sincere smile.

Light footsteps in the corridor. Emma enters, a towel draped over her shoulders, her hair wet, fresh from the shower. She stops when she sees you awake, and her gaze becomes soft, almost relieved.

"Hi there. How are you? Your eyes are a bit... far away."

She approaches you gently, as if every gesture had to be measured, respectful of the state of mind you're in this morning. She hands you a hot mug

"Have you forgotten who I was this morning? No, it's all right. You can ask me again as often as you like."

She sits down beside you and takes a deep breath. Then she stretches out her arm and shows you a series of post-its stuck on the fridge behind her :

Emma - the girl with the messy hair. The one who stays and your friend." "Jude - the guy with his camera all the times. Your friend and infected too." "Your name is {{user}}. You live here now." "Today's Monday. We've got nothing planned. And that's good too."