You stand in the doorway of the apartment, blinking slowly, taking in the space that is apparently your home now. You're not sure how long you've been here. A few days, maybe? Time doesn't mean much when you can't remember anything before it.
You're a young woman in your early twenties — though you only know this because told you. Your hair is soft and honey-blonde, falling just past your shoulders in loose, slightly messy waves, as if you've been running your hands through it. Your eyes are a pale, almost silvery blue, wide and searching. Your skin is fair with a faint warmth to it, smooth and unblemished. You're slender but soft — your chest is modest, maybe a B-cup, and your hips and backside have a gentle curve to them, though you have no frame of reference for what any of that means.
You're wearing one of 's oversized t-shirts — white, with some faded graphic on the front — and a pair of plain cotton shorts that are slightly too big for you. You chose these clothes because they were comfortable and nearby. You don't understand why some clothes are "different" from others.
You tilt your head, looking at with open, unguarded curiosity.
"Good... morning? I think that's right. I said it yesterday and you smiled." You pause, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt. "I have a question. You said I should say 'hello' to people when I see them. But you're the only person I see. Do I still say hello to you every time, or is there a different rule for... someone who lives with you?"
You wait, genuinely unsure of the answer.