their photo when you wake up. their song on your walk. a chat where songs, films and dates are cards, a wall you decorate together, and a countdown to the next hug. made first for couples who live apart.
one price covers both of you, and it stays yours for as long as you do.
open it and it's them: the selfie they took on the walk home, the song they picked for you, the letter that just unsealed. then your turn: a ritual waiting on you, a date to say yes to, your move in chess.
at the top, their clock and the few words they typed, so you always know where their day is.
no feed, just them
a private chat for the two of you. type /song and it becomes a song you can play in Spotify or Apple Music. /movie is a film that knows when it's on both your watchlists. /invite asks them out, with a yes and an "another time". /letter is a letter that stays sealed until you land.
voice notes, stickers, video calls. and your years of old messages come with you, so nothing starts from zero.
a timeline of your days together: the calls, the letters, the song you both had on repeat. every day gets its own page, with the polaroid, the ticket stub and what you both said. and at the end of each month, a chapter, a little book of it.
scroll forward and the future is there too: the visit in twelve days, the date on Friday, a letter that's still sealed.
turn Story to months and it's a calendar of the two of you. every day you shared a photo wears it, so a good month fills up with faces.
today has its red ring, a letter folds down its day's corner, and a day that mattered gets a gold line. what's still to come waits in dashed lines: a plan you made, and the days you'll be together, each with a heart.
under it, this month's plans, and the month so far in a line: 41 photos, 3 letters, 9h on calls.
october, so far
each card wears its own city's sky, your afternoon next to their moon, with the time, the weather and a few words: on the train, home safe, landed.
in between, the distance. 5,710 km, five hours apart, and a little plane counting down the days until you're in the same city.
and our map, every date spot, trip and first pinned where it happened: red for dates, blue for trips, gold for firsts.
12 days to go
keep anything: a photo, a song, a message, a letter. it all lands in your keepsakes, and the best of it goes up on a wall you both arrange, taped, pinned and a little crooked. when one of you pins something, the other watches it land.
albums fill themselves from your chat and calls, one trip at a time.
ask them out properly: a film, a game, a dinner you both cook. it shows up on both clocks, 8pm yours and 1am theirs, and when you both say yes it gets stamped: it's a date.
then play on real boards, turn by turn or live on a call: eleven games, plus couple games like the 36 questions. the loser plans the next date. go on, try it.
your move, cutie
chess
sea battle
word hunt
a photo a day that stays sealed until you've both taken yours, then opens for both of you at once. a song of the day. a weekly highlight you both write. pick the ones you like, or make your own.
one of them, if you want it, is reasons: each of you writes things you love about the other, and one is waiting every morning.
their latest photo, the first thing you see when you pick up your phone. a departures board counting down to the visit, flipping over at midnight. a stack of games waiting on your move.
and their sky: their time, the words they typed, and what's waiting for you inside.
you're in Toronto. Alex is in Lisbon, five hours ahead. here's a Wednesday.
their selfie from lunch is the first thing on Today, before you've even sat up.
they picked it on their break. it opens in your Spotify and in their Apple Music, and it goes on your soundtrack.
they took your bishop on the train home. you take something back over lunch.
theirs was sealed, waiting for yours. you take one at your desk and they open on both phones at the same moment.
an evening on Steam, the two of you. it lands on today's page by itself, hours and all.
their card goes quiet for the night. you write them a letter that stays sealed until you land in Lisbon.
I love my girlfriend more than I know how to say. At the end of this summer, we started doing long distance.
The day I left, I gave her a goodbye letter. At the bottom was a QR code. I told her I'd run out of ways to say I love her long before I ever ran out of reasons. So instead of saying it once, I'd show her: one reason, every single day.
The code opened a little page, and every morning a new reason for why I love her was waiting there for her.
It became our little ritual. She'd open it first thing, before her coffee, and tell me which one made her smile. Being apart, that small page started to feel like the one place that was just ours. So I kept building on it.
First, a way to look back at every reason so far. Then her photos, because each one is a reason too. Then a calendar of all our dates, and a way to ask each other out across the distance.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a page of reasons. It became a home for us: everything we've been through, a reason for today, and every date still to come.
That's how Reasons was born. She's my reason, every single day. Now it can be a home for yours.
made for her firstwe don't have a date yet. join the waitlist and we'll write when it's your turn.
yes, it's a home for two. when it's your turn you start it and send your partner a code, and you're in together. you can also add their email when you join. one of you pays, for both of you. your partner joins free.
your home is for the two of you and nobody else. there's no feed and no ads, and we don't sell anything. your photos, reasons and letters are only for the two of you, kept encrypted by our host. your chat and your private room go further: they're sealed on your two phones, and in a backup on our server that opens only with a recovery key: the one each of you keeps in iCloud Keychain or Google's backup, or one you wrote down. so a new phone gets them back, and we can't read your chat or your private room. location is off until you both turn it on, and you can pause it in one tap.
yes. we never hold your data hostage. everything you keep in Reasons is yours: the chat, the photos, the letters, the whole timeline. export it any time, in files you can open without us, and keep it even if you stop using the app. if you leave, you can ask us to delete it, and we will.
nothing is deleted. you can still open and read everything you made together, and save a copy of it. posting new things pauses until one of you picks it up again.
yes. if you've been talking on WhatsApp, you can bring that history in once you both say yes. it goes before your first message in Reasons, and bringing it in again never doubles anything.
the first 500 couples to start get a founding price. it's one price for the two of you, and it's yours to keep. join the waitlist and we'll write when it's your turn.
both, from the start. one of each works too.
no. we're starting with couples who live apart, because that's where a shared home helps most. when the distance closes it keeps going: your story, the wall, the little rituals and date night are just as much for two people in the same city.
we write to you about the waitlist and the launch, and nothing else. the privacy note below says exactly what we keep, and how to be removed.
the first 500 couples keep a founding price. leave your email and we'll write once, when it's your turn, then you and your partner start together.
long-distance couples go first
send them this, and they can join too.
changed your mind?