Finally, a word for it.

Open the shade that fits closest — still narrowing

Not a number out of five. Eighty-two feelings to choose from, a body to point at, and a private record of what it adds up to.

Start a check-in Look inside

Free. Encrypted on your device. No streaks, no notifications.

A minute a day, and it starts telling you things.

Home, coloured by your day

What keeps coming back

The shape of a fortnight

It fits in the gaps.

A woman at a kitchen table in morning light, looking down at her phone over a mug of tea and a half-eaten bowl of cereal — Before the day starts

A man sitting sideways on a sofa at dusk in a lamp-lit room, knees drawn up, phone held in both hands, a closed laptop pushed aside — Or after it has gone wrong

Close-up over someone's shoulder of two hands holding a phone showing Aluna's emotion wheel opened on the sad family — Wherever you actually are

Your feelings are yours. Alone.

Everything you write is locked on your own device before it is sent. We hold it and we cannot open it — not our team, not somebody who breaks in, not anybody who asks. There is nothing on our side to read it with.

How that works

The honest catch: lose your password and your recovery phrase and it is gone for good. We cannot reset it, because we never had it.

Built to be put down.

No streaks.: Miss a week and nothing breaks. The calendar shows the gaps instead of hiding them.
No notifications.: It waits for you. Nothing here interrupts your evening to protect its own numbers.
No AI reading your entries.: What you get back was written and checked by people, in advance. Your feelings go nowhere to be interpreted.

Start with one word for today.

Start a check-in

Leave whenever you like — deleting your account takes every entry with it.