You're watching someone's brain come apart in real time while they're sitting perfectly still. The screen becomes a portal that dissolves the boundary between "here" and "everywhere else," until you can't tell if the protagonist is watching content or if the content is watching them. It costs nothing to watch but everything to finish, because by the end you recognize the specific loneliness of existing in a room while your mind lives somewhere else entirely.
A figure retreats into their apartment, choosing the comfort of isolation over the demands of the outside world. What begins as a simple day indoors transforms into something more disorienting: screens flicker with endless content, and the boundary between the watcher and the watched grows dangerously thin. Reality bends as scrolling becomes a form of dissociation, each video pulling them further into a maze of digital stimulation while their physical body remains motionless in the same four walls. The film captures that peculiar psychological state where staying home stops being restful and becomes something closer to a trap. Time loses meaning. Space collapses. The apartment becomes both sanctuary and prison, while the glow of devices offers both comfort and alienation. Indoor Days examines the cost of constant connection and voluntary withdrawal, showing how the mind fractures when separated from the tangible world. This is a meditation on modern isolation that refuses easy answers, instead offering a portrait of consciousness fragmenting in real time. For viewers who recognize themselves in digital escapism, this psychological experience will feel uncomfortably familiar.