Everything before it, and then the asking.
For the moment you only get once. It opens sealed, walks back through how you got here, says plainly when you became certain, and then asks — on its own screen, with nothing else on it. Everything after that is written for someone who has already said yes.
What’s inside
Each one is optional — switch off anything that is not your story and it disappears from the page entirely.
They have to choose to open it. That pause is doing real work.
Three or four beats. The runway before the question — long enough to matter, short enough not to dilute it.
Small and checkable beats sweeping and vague.
It gets its own screen. Nothing else competes with it.
A moment of silliness. A long emotional page needs release.
Sealed notes they open one at a time, whenever they need one.
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
Sent it the night before I asked properly. She had already said yes to the page by the time I got there. Cannot recommend the sealed opening enough.
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.
