a diary that opens like a book.

closed, it's a phone.

the triday you know, on the cover. three short lines about your day, in your own hand. then close the app.

open it, and the diary opens.

a spread: the day's doodle on the left page, its three lines on the right, the fold right where a book keeps its spine. what you were writing on the cover is still there when you open it, and still there when you close it.

the days turn like paper.

drag a page and it lifts at its edge, folds over the spine and lands, the next day already printed on its back. no carousel, no slide. a leaf, with a little light on it, and the sound a page makes.

held upright, it's one tall page.

turn the Duo on its side and the spread becomes a single page, the whole screen of it. it curls from the corner instead, the way a thumb turns a paperback, and the words stay on it while it turns.

the list became the index.

on the open Duo, "the days" takes you straight to the pages, where you left off. the list moved to the left page, one small glyph away, with whichever day you touch lying open on the right.

settings lie open too.

the list on the left page, the setting you're tending on the right. change your paper and watch it change. no drilling down, no popping back up. two pages, facing.

night, when it's late.

the paper goes dark, the ink goes soft, and the pages still turn.

nothing else changed. on purpose.

the paper is still ruled paper. the type is still drawn by hand. the pencil still sounds like a pencil. and it's still yours alone:

• private and on-device by default, iCloud sync if you like
• a lock, with Touch ID on the Duo
• one gentle evening bell, never a streak
• 39 languages, right-to-left included, each in its own hand
• once a year, today's page quietly shows what you wrote one, two, and three years ago