Solos is like a buffet of human connection, loneliness and tech drama. Each episode serves up a different character, diving deep into their messes and revelations. Sounds like a party, right?

Meet the characters from Solos

Otto

Otto feels like the quiet center of a small, complicated storm — calm on the surface but you just know there’s a whole movie playing behind his eyes. He’s steady, a little gruff maybe, the kind of person who says one smart thing and then rambles charmingly about spoons or satellites (I swear he collects something random). There’s a lot of warmth under that reserve, and he’s surprisingly stubborn about small comforts, like insisting on the perfect cup of tea at 3 p.m. — yet also somehow philosophical and prone to weird late-night monologues about regret and hope.

Stuart

Stuart is awkward in the best possible way, the character you want to hug and also absolutely root for when he accidentally starts a philosophical debate at a deli. He’s a little anxious, very earnest, tries to be clever and sometimes lands in adorable disaster territory, which is basically his brand. He’s got this goofy charm — like the person who’ll alphabetize their spice rack and then forget their keys five times in a row. Also, he makes a lot of lists (but loses them), and yes, he probably keeps a pen behind his ear even when he’s not doing anything serious.

Nera

Nera is sharp and intense and kind of quietly ferocious, like don’t cross her unless you want a laser-focused lecture on consequences. She’s brilliant, practical, and has emotional layers that reveal themselves in weird, perfectly timed moments — laughs one second, breaks the next, then stares into space like she’s solving a math problem about feelings. She loves routines but will break them for something she believes in (or for good coffee), and she’s got this tendency to tidy up other people’s messes even when she shouldn’t. Also, minor obsession: she owns more notebooks than she needs and insists they’re all “active projects,” which may or may not be true.

Jenny

Jenny is fragile and fierce at once — the kind of character who can explode into a memory tangent and make you love her for it. She’s vulnerable in ways that feel brave, constantly trying to stitch parts of her life back together with humor and stubborn optimism. She talks fast when she’s nervous, and sometimes she’ll do something impulsive like adopt a houseplant and then forget to water it for a week (oops). There’s also this adorable habit of making playlists for moods, like seriously specific ones — “rainy Tuesday, avoidance edition.”

Sasha

Sasha is magnetic and a little unreliable in the most interesting way — like she shows up and you’re immediately drawn in, but you never quite know where she’ll go next. She vents sharp one-liners, has big ideas about identity and art, and can be simultaneously glamorous and a total mess (in a delightful way). She hoards tiny souvenirs from the past — ticket stubs, mismatched buttons — but claims she’s not sentimental (which is obviously a lie). Also, she might be the person who writes poetry in the margins of grocery lists; don’t tell anyone I said that.

Peg

Peg is blunt, practical, and somehow full of soft warmth under a crusty exterior — you trust her immediately even if she scolds you for breathing wrong. She’s the no-nonsense type who still knows when to soften her voice, and she’s got these small domestic rituals that are borderline sacred (rolling silverware is a sport, apparently). She misplaces her glasses on her head every single time but will remember your birthday years later without fail. Also, she speaks in plain truths and occasional terrible jokes, which she considers wildly underrated.

Tom

Tom is quietly introspective and a little lost-in-thought, the sort of person who keeps a private inner monologue that’s actually very funny if you listen closely. He’s caring and attentive, prone to overthinking but also capable of surprising clarity when it counts — like he’ll blurt out one small, perfect truth and then retreat. He claims to dislike melodrama but will watch soap operas with guilty fascination at 2 a.m., so, contradictions. Little detail: always carries a notebook he never opens in public but writes in furiously at home while making bad tea.

Leah

Leah is restless, daring, and kind of a beautiful mess — part hopeless romantic, part loud skeptic, all energy. She makes impulsive decisions and then owns them with a grin, fiercely opinionated about small injustices and concert t-shirts. She insists she hates social media but secretly documents everything (like, obsessively), then deletes it three days later because privacy is a moral stance? Also dresses like she’s auditioning for three different decades at once and it somehow works.