Two clocks, one countdown, and everything in between.
For the ones doing it from two time zones. Their hour running beside yours, the kilometres named out loud, a countdown to the next time you are in the same room, sealed notes for the nights the call drops, and a promise at the end that this is the boring part, not the whole story.
What’s inside
Each one is optional — switch off anything that is not your story and it disappears from the page entirely.
Long distance runs on shared coordinates. Name the specific bench.
Sealed notes they open one at a time, whenever they need one.
Small and checkable beats sweeping and vague.
They walk a path and find something at each stop. Home stays locked until they have found everything.
Short lines, set large. One line per line break.
A run of "here’s to…" lines. Read as a toast, out loud.
The surprise. Pick what you actually did — the layout follows, and they only see it after tapping.
The part they read twice. Write it like you talk.
One line per line break. Leave a blank line for a pause.
What you get
Your page starts finished. You replace our words with yours rather than facing a blank box.
Unguessable, never indexed, and printable onto a card so there is something to hand over.
Lock it, or schedule it so it only opens at the exact moment you want it to.
Fix a typo after they have opened it. Changes go live on the same link.
Warm, playful or literary — switch any time without losing a word you have written.
One payment, no renewal. The page stays exactly where you left it.
Palettes
Or set your own colours, type and scene order — included with every page.
Reviews
The two clocks did something to her that I could not have done with words. She screenshotted just that bit and set it as her wallpaper.
The walk-home game is genuinely lovely. Took him ten minutes and he messaged me at every stop.
You might also want
Everything that led to now, in order. The long one. A slow scroll through the whole thing — the day it started counting, the moments you both remember differently, the apology you have been meaning to make properly, seven promises, sealed notes for later, and a surprise at the end. Built for anniversaries that deserve more than a caption.
4.8(312)Nine scenes, four games, one phone passed back and forth. The most playable one. A quiz neither of you can lose, a path to walk together, pairs to match, a screen of drifting flowers to hunt through for the one that is actually yours, and a letter that types itself out at the end. Built to be done side by side rather than read alone.
4.9(148)Played one screen at a time, ending in candles. The one you play through rather than read. A plane goes over with their name on it, then a tree you grow by hand with a line waiting at every stage, balloons to pop, the scrapbook, the whole story walked in order, a letter that opens like real paper, and candles to blow out before the confetti. Nothing moves on until they are ready.
4.9(64)Make one in about twenty minutes
Pay once, keep it for life. No subscription.
