Shaden Safieddine Tazi

A young woman watches the war in Lebanon through her phone, from her bed in Paris. Through digital images, family voices, and silences, the film explores the dissociation of a generation condemned to witness the destruction of the world from afar. An intimate essay on exile, screens, and the exhaustion of being a witness.

Abidjan, 1978. Every day at 3:00 P.M., the train howls past. For 24-year-old Faten, a Lebanese exile and repressed artist, those seconds—closest to death—are the only ones that make her feel alive. She lives with Samir, a 27-year-old architect and photographer. Once inseparable, their bond has faded, their intimacy shadowed by loss. When a ceasefire is declared in Lebanon, Faten convinces Samir to drive to Beirut under the guise of a research trip. Packed into a small Renault 4, they cross West Africa—stopping at diaspora homes and post offices to gather news from families still under the falling bombs. What begins in laughter becomes a descent through fever, sandstorms, and silence. In the Algerian desert, trapped between life and death, Faten and Samir rediscover tenderness. Rescued and smuggled into Morocco, Faten redefines love: not passion, but endurance—the fragile pact to hold each other when the world collapses.

A young woman watches the war in Lebanon through her phone, from her bed in Paris. Through digital images, family voices, and silences, the film explores the dissociation of a generation condemned to witness the destruction of the world from afar. An intimate essay on exile, screens, and the exhaustion of being a witness.

A young woman watches the war in Lebanon through her phone, from her bed in Paris. Through digital images, family voices, and silences, the film explores the dissociation of a generation condemned to witness the destruction of the world from afar. An intimate essay on exile, screens, and the exhaustion of being a witness.

Abidjan, 1978. Every day at 3:00 P.M., the train howls past. For 24-year-old Faten, a Lebanese exile and repressed artist, those seconds—closest to death—are the only ones that make her feel alive. She lives with Samir, a 27-year-old architect and photographer. Once inseparable, their bond has faded, their intimacy shadowed by loss. When a ceasefire is declared in Lebanon, Faten convinces Samir to drive to Beirut under the guise of a research trip. Packed into a small Renault 4, they cross West Africa—stopping at diaspora homes and post offices to gather news from families still under the falling bombs. What begins in laughter becomes a descent through fever, sandstorms, and silence. In the Algerian desert, trapped between life and death, Faten and Samir rediscover tenderness. Rescued and smuggled into Morocco, Faten redefines love: not passion, but endurance—the fragile pact to hold each other when the world collapses.