You decide what your partner sees — before they see anything.
One rule, held by the app itself: nothing crosses the line you set.
One answer, three ways of being kept.
What you wrote
Chapter one · What money mistake are you most afraid of us making?
Quietly covering for my brother again — and never saying how much.
The same in all three. What changes is not what you wrote — it is who can read it.
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01
Share
They read it in full, side by side with their own answer — once you have both finished the chapter. Never earlier.
App screenshot to come · Share
Their page
A wedding we are still paying for in five years.
And from you
Quietly covering for my brother again — and never saying how much.
The chapter-one screen on their handset once you have both finished it: your answer and theirs both open, neither one marked as the special case.
Both answers open at once, or neither does.
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02
Sealed
They can see that you answered, and how much you wrote. They cannot read a word of it until you open it together.
App screenshot to come · Sealed
Their page
A wedding we are still paying for in five years.
And from you · eleven words
Quietly covering for my brother again — and never saying how much.
The same screen before it opens. Your row is there and shows that you answered and roughly how long it is, with the words themselves not shown — whatever the app actually does for this, not a padlock icon.
It opens when you both finish the chapter.
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03
Private
They are shown nothing at all. Not the words, not a locked row, not the fact that you wrote.
App screenshot to come · Private
Their page
A wedding we are still paying for in five years.
Chapter one · Who should know what we earn?
The same screen with no row for you on it. The chapter runs straight to its next question. This one has to be indistinguishable from a chapter where you were never asked.
No locked row, no gap. The chapter carries on.
Photograph to come · the one that stops the scroll
The demonstration above ends on a mechanism, one line before the page asks for two and a half screens of trust. This frame puts the stake back — and it holds the reader by withholding: you try to read the page, and you cannot. It does to the viewer exactly what the app does to a partner.
Two people at one table on an ordinary evening, both writing, in the same lamplight. Neither looks at the other’s page. One has stopped mid-sentence and is looking away, thinking — that hesitation is the subject, not the writing. Both pages are turned far enough from the camera that the viewer cannot read them either.
Not in frame: no padlock, key, keyhole or shield. No blur or pixel mask over the writing — concealment must never be visible, because the promise on this page is that withholding leaves no mark. No phones, no screens, no rings or venue. They are not looking at each other, and this is not a posed portrait.
Our side of the vows.
- Nothing is graded
There is no result, no ranking and no percentage. The app cannot produce one, because nothing in it measures the two of you against anything.
- Private is invisible
A private answer does not appear to your partner as a locked row or a greyed-out card. It does not appear at all. They are never shown that something is being withheld.
- Never sold
What you write is not sold, not shared with advertisers, and not used to train anything.
- Delete means delete
Delete your account and the answers go with it — not archived, not retained against a future request.
Two chapters are handled differently.
- 07
Intimacy — you each set a depth, privately. The gentler one leads.
- 08
Children — a difference here is framed with care, never as a contest.
Photograph to come · the release
The page has explained the mechanism four times over and never once shown what it leaves behind. One screen before the reader decides, this says: nothing happened. It is deliberately the least dramatic picture on the site — if it competes with the frame above, both become wallpaper.
A weekday morning in the same home, later. One of them is still getting ready and looking for something; the other is at the door with a bag, saying something ordinary. Neither is thinking about the night before. Its only trace is two chairs still turned toward each other at the table, and nobody is looking at them.
Not in frame: nothing being discussed, no meaningful glance, no tension held in the shoulders. No app screen, and no notebook — that object belongs to /programme. Not styled for the camera: no props set out, no golden hour doing the work the situation should do.