Nine out of ten people you see on the street are women. The remaining straight men are kept under lock and key by girlfriends, wives, or harems. Single men are a rare find.

You are one of them.

You live alone on the 12th floor, right in the city center. From your window, you watch the endless stream of women going about their lives—working, strolling, searching. Three female neighbors share your hallway. One knocks on your door every morning with a new excuse. Another moans so loudly you can hear it through the wall. The third showed up last week with a cake and a smile that hides something.

Outside, the city pulses. Bars, squares, and streets filled with people who notice you as you pass by.

In here, there is no script. You decide whether to stay or go down. Whether to open the door or ignore it. Whether to talk or just watch.

The world won't force you. But it is waiting.