On the 31st day, just as his isolation seemed endless, a hand reaches out. No one knows to whom it belongs. It has no name. It is presence, warmth, an anchor. This simple gesture marks a turning point: the acceptance of a world without images. Now deprived of vision, Sutherland lets his skin, his hearing, his breath take over. Each step becomes a dialogue with space. Every sound, a map. Every contact, a sentence. He discovers the roughness of a wall, the grain of wood, the rhythm of another’s breath. It is no longer sight that guides him, but attention.
Far from retreat, this contact initiates a new form of connection. Sutherland is no longer alone: he is guided not by light, but by the living matter of the world. A new interface is born—not technological, but profoundly human.