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About Unravel

Seven games. One home. Built for couples who want more than small talk, and built to respect every word they say.

Unravel started as a Truth or Dare game for two people who already share a bed: prompts that skip the surface, dares calibrated for a couch instead of a crowd. The response told me something: couples have a lot of evenings where a regular conversation isn't quite the right shape, but phone-on-the-couch isn't either.

So I built six more.

Today, Unravel is seven separate experiences, all built on the same foundation: your words stay yours. Nothing you type, say, or write is ever sent to my servers. No ads. No accounts. No tracking. Just the game, and the two of you.

The Unravel promise

Before I talk about what the games do, here's what I don't:

When two people are being honest with each other, the last thing that should be sitting between them is a company listening in. I built Unravel so there isn't one.

See our Privacy Policy for the full technical breakdown.

Pick the kind of evening you actually want

🎲 Truth or Dare (18+)

Strictly 18+: contains intimate and adult content.

A Truth or Dare deck rewritten for people who already know each other. Four progressive levels, from warm conversation-starters to unreserved intimacy:

Every level has its own palette and music cue, so each tier feels like a different world, not just a different set of questions. LGBTQ+ friendly: the deck adapts to MM, FF, and MF couples.

💗 Heart to Heart (all ages)

No dares. No buzzer. Just words.

Heart to Heart is for the evenings when you don't want a game; you want a conversation. The core deck has 195 questions across vulnerability, memory, the future, gratitude, and the parts of ourselves we normally protect.

💌 Sealed

A message that waits for them.

Write something. Lock it for up to 10 years. Share the link. Your partner sees the envelope arrive, but they can't open it until the countdown ends.

❓ Guess Me

A two-player guessing game for couples who think they know each other.

You each answer a set of questions about yourself, privately, on the same device, then take turns guessing what your partner picked. At the end, you reveal together and see where you matched and where one of you was quietly wrong for longer than you realized.

🔀 Would You Rather

One phone, split into two halves, and you both answer at the same time: this, or that? Over a thousand would-you-rather questions, from small everyday things to bold choices. You keep stacking up matching answers until you reach the target, and along the way you find out just how often the two of you land, without meaning to, on the same side. It's fast, it's funny, and it quietly reveals how in sync you are on the small things. There's also a spicier set, saved for later in the night.

🎲 Couple Dice

The argument-ender for two-person households.

Two modes, one die. Wishlist scatters six shared wishes across the week (date night, lazy Sunday, a long walk), and the roll decides which day each one lands on. Chores takes six recurring tasks and splits them three-and-three between the two of you, with the dice deciding who gets what. No bargaining, no resentment, no one accusing the other of always dodging the dishes.

🕹️ Couple Arcade

One phone, split into two halves, holding twenty-seven brisk two-player mini-games. From reflex duels, memory matches, a colour-word conflict test and air hockey to fast tapping battles, each one settles who's ahead in a single short round. Your head-to-head score keeps adding up, until only one question is left: who's the real champion tonight? Most games are for all ages, with a few 18+ ones as well.

Why the experience feels different

I chose the hard path technically: local-first, no database, no backend for your content, because the alternative would have cost the thing I actually care about. A game built on private conversations can't survive being watched. If a server somewhere was quietly logging which level a couple plays on a Tuesday night, the game itself would mean less. So I simply didn't build that server.

Which is also why Unravel feels different to use:

Good design, to me, starts with not getting in the way. Especially when two people are trying to say something true to each other.

What all seven games share

Why I built all seven

Every long-term couple runs into the same problem: you know each other so well that the easy questions have been asked, and the hard questions feel too intentional to bring up over dinner.

Some nights you want to flirt. Some nights you want to slow down and actually talk. Some nights one of you is far away and text doesn't quite carry it. Some nights you just want to play a game on a weeknight that wasn't supposed to be anything.

Unravel is the excuse for all of them. The game picks the questions. You just have to show up.

Who I am

I'm an indie developer. From the first idea to the design to the code, Unravel was built entirely by me, on my own.

This isn't a startup, and it isn't a room full of strangers workshopping ways to raise "user engagement." I made Unravel simply because I kept wishing that, on certain evenings, more couples had an easy, unawkward way to open up and really talk again.

The idea came from two places.

The first was my own experience. Every relationship has its moments: you already know each other well and the basic questions are long used up, but the ones that actually matter feel too formal, too deliberate, to bring up out of nowhere at the dinner table.

The silence when one of you is tired, the resentment that builds up little by little over chores, or the questions you'd once have asked easily over a long-distance video call but somehow stop asking once you're living under the same roof.

The second was my friends. Over the years they kept sharing the same kinds of stories: the long-distance stretches, the friction of moving in together, and the quiet distance that can creep in even between two people who love each other.

Underneath all of those stories was the same wish: a lighter, less awkward way that could still get two people to genuinely talk.

The games in Unravel grew, slowly, out of those moments.

I wanted a Truth or Dare that didn't bring a college party to mind; a quiet set of prompts for the nights you want to talk but don't know where to start; a message that arrives late, right at the moment it should; a way to learn what your partner is really thinking without it feeling like an interview; and a way to split the chores without fighting all over again about "whose turn it actually was last time."

Every part of Unravel is something I, or someone close to me, genuinely wished had existed during some chapter of life.

Because I built it for real evenings and not for pretty numbers, I built Unravel the way I'd actually want to use it: privacy first, no analytics at all, none of the trust-for-growth tricks, and none of the dark patterns that nudge you to linger, tap, or pay.

If Unravel helps the two of you argue a little less and talk a little more, or just makes you feel, on some evening, a little closer to the person beside you, then it has already done what it was made to do.

If I've fallen short anywhere, please tell me. Whether it's a suggestion, a bug report, or just a hello, you're welcome to write to me at: [email protected]. I read every message myself.


Seven games. One home. Nothing between the two of you and the conversation you came here for.