Wamo
What the two of you get
Four tabs, walked through in the order you would meet them. Nothing on this page is a concept, a roadmap item or a screen somebody mocked up. It is all built, and you can open it on the first day.
A few things are deliberately left off this page. They are nicer to find on your own.
Four tabs
Today.
Everything the two of you are building.
Everything you two have already done.
The part your partner never sees.
Today, and one thing to do about it
It opens on a greeting, a line about how your partner is doing, and the single thing today is for. The ritual rotates by weekday and the wording rotates weekly, so the same Tuesday never reads identically twice.
One a day from a pool of 135 on a seeded shuffle, so nothing repeats until the whole pool is spent. Both phones work out the same question on their own, with no server call.
Their answer opens the moment you have both written one, set in the handwriting face. Then emoji reactions and one reply, and that is it until tomorrow.
An archive of every day you answered, including the ones that never opened because only one of you showed up.
One ruled line for each thing actually waiting on the two of you. A decision, an action item, a reflection that is ready, a guess you owe them.
Five faces, from rough to great, with optional tags and a short note. Their face sits next to yours, with how long ago they set it.
Say thanks for something specific rather than a generic compliment. Quick chips for making coffee, the ride, really listening, or type your own.
Plus a heart you can send without typing, a counter ticking from the day you started, and a version of this screen that reads properly on the days before your partner has joined.
The life the two of you are building, and the admin under it
The ritual half and the operations half live one tap apart, on purpose. This is the part that is still useful on a Tuesday in March.
Five prompts, one at a time and every one skippable, answered apart and revealed side by side. An appreciation, a gentle flag, the week ahead, something to decide together, and a note on your dreams. The wording rotates across twelve sets, so week five is never week one again.
Five either-or questions a week. Answer for yourself, then guess for them. There is no score, only the surprises and the ones you called.
One slightly ridiculous physical thing a week. The cushion walk, blind portraits, the gibberish opera, the slowest race. Every one has a version you do over a video call. No winners, only witnesses.
Sixty cards across four decks, for a night out, a night in, a night apart, or someday. Swipe or tap, and a mutual yes becomes a real decision.
One sheet of paper per open question, options anyone can add with whose idea it was, and a two-tap confirm to settle it. The ledger keeps every settled decision with its answer and its date.
Save toward an amount with a progress ring, keep a shared habit with a check-off each, or mark a milestone done. Finishing one lands on your wins.
Named shared checklists, groceries with sections, to-dos, whatever you two keep forgetting. Every item says who added it, and both phones stay current.
Amount, store, type and date, with a share-with-partner switch on every row. Private rows never reach their phone. A month figure, the split between you, a six-month chart you can tap into, and a category donut.
Plus a someday list for the things you keep meaning to get to, a gift cheat sheet built out of what you say about yourself, and every date worth counting down to.
The part that pays you back
Add the movies, meals, and little adventures you share, you'll be surprised how much you actually do. Nothing here asks anything of you, it fills up as a side effect of the rest.
Grouped by month as a photo-booth paper strip. A title and a category, an optional rating, an optional handwritten note, an optional photo, and the date.
A month grid with a dot on every day that has a memory. Tap a day to read that day back.
A timeline of what you finished, each row saying where it came from, a dream, a decision, a reflection.
The whole timeline in one place, titled with how long you two have been at it.
A keepsake that opens at ten memories. The figures at display size, one quoted memory on paper, your first one, your best-rated one and your most recent.
Plus the counts behind all of it, the next dates coming up, and a button that hands you the whole lot as a file.
The corner nobody else sees
A quiet corner that is yours alone. Your partner never sees any of this. A note is for thinking out loud. A to-do is for the thing you keep meaning to get to.
Torn paper sheets in the handwriting face, with the date stamped under them.
A private checklist with a count of what is left, tick to complete, delete per row.
The private table is scoped to your account in the database, so their app never receives a row of it.
Pause the shared space, or take a few quiet days. Both silence every reminder, and neither says who pressed it.
What is actually in there
No question repeats until the whole pool is spent, then it reshuffles. Every one of them was written by a person.
Details you only notice if they are missing
What Wamo does not do
This list is as honest as the one above it, and it is shorter on purpose.
Every question, prompt and date card was written by a person, and nothing you write is sent to a model.
Two people. That is the entire model.
A nudge is a heart, or one specific thank-you. There is no messaging surface and there is not going to be one.
Nothing here rates the two of you, and the quiz was deliberately built without one.
The counter counts up, quiet days exist, and nothing decays.
If a save fails you get a plain message and your draft is kept, so you can try it again.
Coming to the App Store
The rest is better found than read
Write once and we will write back once, the day it lands.