No tagging. No menus. No work.
You speak the way you’d speak to anyone. The app reads the names out, links them quietly, and gets out of your way.
A five-minute voice ritual for the last few minutes before sleep. Speak what mattered, set tomorrow somewhere safe, breathe — and the day is allowed to be over.
You go to bed wired, not tired — phone in hand, the mental list still writing itself. My Evening replaces that hour with a small, deliberate ritual: speak what mattered, set tomorrow somewhere safe, breathe four cycles, and the screen goes dark.
By the time you stop, your shoulders have dropped, the day feels finished, and sleep is already on its way. Most of it happens with your eyes closed.
Speak the small things that mattered. The day stops feeling like a blur and starts feeling like yours.
2 min · gratitude
The list stops circling. Three things matter tomorrow. The rest is allowed to wait.
3 min · plan tomorrow
Four cycles of slow breath. The chest loosens, the heart quiets, sleep is already close.
90 sec · 4-7-8 breathing
A short summary, a kind word, and the screen quiets. No feed below the fold, no “one more.”
5 sec · phone down
Two minutes of saying out loud what mattered, and the noise of the day starts to settle. Names of people return to you. Small kindnesses surface. By the time you're done, the day feels like something that happened to you on purpose — not something that happened at you.
Your voice becomes text in seconds; the recording is never saved. Speak freely, type if you'd rather.
Who are you thankful
for tonight?
Thank you to my beautiful wife for an amazing breakfast.
You mentioned six things.
Pick the ones that matter most.
Tomorrow’s priorities
Every loose thread, said out loud or typed, leaves your head and lands somewhere you trust. Then you choose three. The rest is allowed to wait until morning. What you take to the pillow is a plan, not a pile.
Scullin et al., Journal of Experimental Psychology, 2018
Ninety seconds of 4-7-8 — four cycles, eyes closed. Haptic taps mark each phase, so you don't have to look. The chest loosens, the heart slows, and you're already a long way toward sleep before the last cycle ends.
Cyclic slow breathing engages the parasympathetic system within a single round.
Prasertsri et al., 2022.
7
Hold
You showed up for yourself tonight
Reflect on what you're thankful for tonight
Clear your mind by setting tomorrow's priorities
Guided 4-7-8 breathing to calm your body
A short summary, a kind word, and the screen quiets. There is no feed below the fold, no badge to chase, no "one more." You set the phone down and the day is finished, because you finished it on purpose.
Miss a night? The next one greets you with "Welcome back." Forgiveness, never punishment.
You don’t name people. You don’t tag, classify, or fill in a profile. You just say what you’d say to a friend — “thank you to my wife for breakfast,” “for my dad calling on Sunday” — and the names quietly find their place. A year from now, the people who held you up are visible in your own words.
What happens, quietly
You speak — “thank you to my beautiful wife for an amazing breakfast.”
The app reads the people out. Olena is linked — automatically, in seconds.
Months pass. Her name keeps showing up. So does your dad. So does the friend who texted twice.
My Numbers
My People
See AllAnatomy of one quiet year
Tap any name and you find your own words, by week, by month, by year. Not a chart. Not a score. The actual moments you noticed her — preserved in the night you said them.
Olena
Wife · since Mar 2025
This week
Last month
A year ago
You’ve never tagged her once. The app simply listened, and remembered.
You speak the way you’d speak to anyone. The app reads the names out, links them quietly, and gets out of your way.
A handful of names start coming up again and again. The people who actually held you up become impossible to miss.
Years from now, you’ll know exactly who was there during the hardest seasons — in your own words, the night you said them.
Detection happens in a transient model call — nothing stored along the way. Only the result lands on your phone: the names, your own words. No audio kept. No third parties.
By 11pm you've thought enough, decided enough, typed enough. My Evening meets you tired. Tap once, talk, tap again. The app does the noticing while you do the resting — eyes can stay closed, body can already be horizontal.
No app guarantees sleep. We've put the practices that quietly help in one place, in an order you can do tired.
About 9 minutes faster, in a Baylor study of people who wrote a short plan before bed.
Scullin et al., Journal of Experimental Psychology: General, 2018
Roughly 30 more minutes of sleep, across two studies of regular gratitude practice.
Wood et al., Journal of Psychosomatic Research, 2009
A single round of slow-paced breathing engaged the parasympathetic system — the body’s rest signal.
Prasertsri et al., 2022
Every detail was checked against a single question: would this feel calm at 11pm? The result is a smaller app than most — by design — that feels solid because there is nothing in it that doesn’t belong.
Written in Swift and SwiftUI, on iOS 18+ frameworks. No web view, no Electron, no JavaScript runtime. It feels like the system because it is.
No third-party SDKs. No advertising identifier. No engagement loops. The only money the app needs is the seven-day trial that turns into a subscription if you say yes.
No content library, no “for you” feed, no in-app messages. Open it tired, finish, set it down. There is nothing to manage and nothing to come back to.
Built in Berlin by people who use it nightly. Email lands in our actual inbox. Updates land when they’re ready, not on a marketing schedule.
Privacy isn't a feature we added; it's how the app is built. The defaults are quiet, your data stays on your phone, and Sign in with Apple is the only login.
Speak freely
Your voice is heard, then gone. Recordings aren’t saved — only what you wanted to remember stays.
No one is selling your evenings
No analytics SDK, no advertising identifier, no shared third-party data. Sign in with Apple is the only account.
Your sleep stays on your phone
If you connect Apple Health, the numbers stay there. We don’t see them, store them, or move them off your device.
Delete and it’s gone
Any entry, any night, can be removed. There is no shadow copy, no “backup” we can’t reach.
How it works, briefly. Sign in with Apple is the only login. Audio is sent for transcription and held in memory only — never written to disk on our side. Names mentioned in entries are linked using a transient model call; only the result is kept, on your device. Apple Health data is read locally; bedtime, if you opt in, is written back to your phone. If you want a second lock, Face ID can be turned on in Settings — the app won't open without it.
No free tier with locked features. No upsell every time you open the app. Seven nights to feel the difference, then $29.99 a year — about $2.99 a month, billed once.
If your trial ends and you don't subscribe, every evening you've already logged stays readable, free, forever.
Not yet. iPhone only, iOS 18 or later. We’d rather make one calm thing well than two anxious things badly.
Briefly, while we turn it into words. The audio isn’t saved or kept. The transcript is what stays — only because you wanted it to.
Nothing. The next time you open the app, it says “Welcome back.” You’re not behind. There’s nothing to catch up on.
Every evening you logged stays readable, free, forever. New entries pause until you come back. No hostage data.
Five minutes most nights. Ten if you’ve had a long one. The breathing alone is ninety seconds.
No. No analytics SDK, no advertising identifier, no shared third-party data of any kind. Sign in with Apple is the only account, and that’s on purpose.