One tap. Then you find out you weren't the only one.

Every pulsewave is an image or a question with the same six answers. No stars, no scale from one to ten, no comment box to agonise over. You choose the one that fits and you are done.

Six is deliberate. Two would flatten everything into approve and disapprove; twenty would turn a reaction into a decision.

The moment you vote, the split appears. Not a score, not a verdict — just how the room actually felt, including the part that disagrees with you.

That is usually the interesting bit. Feeling hope about something is one thing; learning that sixty per cent of people felt rage about the same picture is another.

Vote while signed in and you get a card: your emotion, the pulsewave, and how you compare — sized for Stories, saved with one tap.

Two rules govern what it says. It only ever counts real votes, and it withholds the percentage entirely until enough people have voted for the number to mean something. A card gets screenshotted and outlives any correction, so it does not get to guess.

A single pulsewave is featured each day. It is the thing worth arguing about with someone who also saw it — the shared reference that a bottomless feed never gives you.

Next one in --:--:--

The rest of the catalogue stays open. Nothing is rationed and no timer stops you voting — the daily one is a meeting point, not a limit.

Vote on consecutive days and a streak builds. It appears once it reaches two days, sits in the corner, and is never used to nag you.

A day runs from 08:00 UTC, the same boundary the featured pulsewave uses, so the streak and the day you actually experienced are the same day.

A global average is abstract. Your own office is not. Create a group or join one with a code, and you see that group’s pulse beside everyone else’s — on the card too.

Groups are invite-only. There is no directory and no search: the link is the only way in, which is what keeps a group a group.

A group shows nothing until three different people have voted. With two members, knowing the split tells you exactly what your colleague answered, so the platform simply will not say. This is enforced in the database, not just hidden in the interface.

Open the results of a busy pulsewave and the wall fills in. Each square is somebody, somewhere, who just answered.

What travels is the emotion and nothing else. No name, no account, no location — the wall cannot leak who you are, because who you are is never put on it.

After voting you can send one of six fixed phrases to someone who felt the same way. They are told; they are never told by whom.

There is no text box, and there is no way to add one — the phrases are fixed in the database, not filtered afterwards. Deciding this before launch is cheaper than moderating it forever, and it means nothing unkind can arrive.

You hear when someone follows you, when a creator you follow publishes, and when a reaction arrives. Nothing else.

You can narrow the second one to the topics you care about. Choose none and you hear about everything, which is the default, because silence should be something you pick rather than something that happens to you.