You will not remember writing this.
Two or three sentences tonight. No plot, no ending, no plan — just an opening line and whatever follows it before you lose interest. Then the vault takes it away and does not tell you when it will be back.
It goes under for a stretch you don't get to pick.
Some day inside a window. You are never told which.
By the time it returns you will have genuinely forgotten it. That is not a side effect. That is the mechanism.
Weeks pass. A short piece of writing sits somewhere on your phone with nobody looking at it, least of all you.
First it asks. Only then does it show.
When a piece surfaces, the vault does not open with the text. It opens with a question, and your answer is kept — permanently, next to what you actually wrote. Try the sequence below.
What do you think you wrote?
Now wipe it clear.
The man in the flat below has stopped playing the piano, and I have started listening for it anyway. Three weeks of nothing now. I have begun to suspect the silence is addressed to me.
Drag across the fog — or
What you guessed
What was there
Then you finish it — not as the person who began it, but as whoever turned up today. Both of you sign the result, weeks apart, under one name.
Every finished piece is measured
- Distance travelled
- How far the ending wandered from the opening it was handed. Some people close the loop neatly. Most do not come near it.
- Voice retained
- How much of the original register survived the wait, and where the seam between the two of you actually falls.
- Temperature
- Whether the one who buries stories runs colder or warmer than the one who digs them out. A few people open in dread and land in tenderness every time, without ever meaning to.
- Accuracy
- How often your blind guess resembles the truth. Some writers never once get close. You will find out which sort you are.
- A message in a bottle thrown into your own future.
- A stranger's first paragraph, except the stranger is you.
- The only writing app that refuses to show you your own work.
Nothing to keep up. No streak to defend, no empty page waiting to be filled on schedule. Only something you left behind, returning for an ending.
Nobody reads it. That includes us.
The whole point of this app is that a piece of writing stays unread for a while. Handing it to a server would undo that on the first night, so nothing is ever handed anywhere. There is no account, no upload and no company on the other end of it.
Nothing is asked for
You are never registered. No name, no email address, no age, no location, and no reading of device or advertising identifiers. The app opens on an empty line and asks nothing of you beyond the writing itself.
Where the buried pieces sit
Openings, endings, guesses, dates, measurements and every finished story are written into the app's own storage on your device and stay there.
None of it is duplicated elsewhere. We cannot read a buried piece before you do, after you do, or at all — there is no copy on this side to read.
How the burial is timed
The day a piece resurfaces is chosen at random by the app on your phone, inside the window the design allows. No scheduling service is contacted and no calendar of yours is consulted. The date exists only on your device, which is precisely why it can be withheld from you.
Being told a piece is back
The alert that something has surfaced is a notification your phone arranges for itself with the built-in timer in iOS. No push service is involved and no token is handed over, so the vault opens on schedule with the phone in flight mode.
The measurements are yours alone
Drift, retained voice, temperature and guessing accuracy are worked out on the device, from your own writing, and shown to nobody but you. They are a feature of the app, not a report going anywhere. No usage figures, session records or diagnostics are gathered.
Sending a finished story out
If you choose to send one to another person, iOS's share sheet does it at the moment you ask. Once it lands somewhere else it lives under that service's rules, and who has read it becomes a matter of who you sent it to.
No outside code
The build contains no analytics package, no advertising network, no crash reporter and no tracking beacon. Nothing observes what you write or when you write it.
Younger writers
Because nothing leaves any device, nothing leaves a child's device either. No record exists on our side for COPPA, the UK Children's code or similar rules elsewhere to reach.
Deleting — and a warning
Any piece can be removed inside the app at any point, buried or finished. But be careful here: deleting the app destroys everything still underground, including work you have forgotten you wrote and therefore cannot miss. There is no backup on our side to restore it from, because there never was one.
If your phone backs up to iCloud or a computer, the vault may travel inside that encrypted backup — yours to control, and covered by Apple's terms rather than this page.
Changes to this page
If a later version does anything not described above, this page is corrected before that version ships and the date at the top of the section moves with it.
Anything unclear
Write to oksanakov385@gmail.com.
One reader on this end
A fault, a burial window that felt wrong, a measurement that reads oddly, or a story that came back strange — all of it arrives with one person.