new hand: clay. thick, round, a little uneven, just like your handwriting. no two e's in a row come out the same, and it writes 21 of the languages triday speaks, romanian included. the first few pages are warmer too, with a few marks in the margin to show what a scribble can be, and a line that signs itself once before it asks you to. underneath, the usual quiet tidying: steadier pages, smaller fixes, nothing you should have to think about. three lines a day, as ever.

back is a swipe, and the check knows when you're done. anywhere there's a back arrow, you can now swipe in from the edge of the screen to get there. settings, your days, a day you opened to read: the same gesture the rest of your phone uses, and it follows the direction your language reads. the check has learned when it has nothing left to do. before, a day you'd already written opened with a check sitting over your own words, as if the day were still waiting on you, and pressing it saved nothing. now it steps aside and lets a finished entry read as finished. change a single word and it comes straight back. three lines a day, as ever.

night is free now. dusk and dark belong to everyone from today, because reading your own days should never depend on the hour. the page has learned the clock too, so the line that greets you in the morning is not the one waiting at midnight, and the evening bell now calls you by name. the paper grows as you write, rule by rule, so a long day never feels cramped. three lines a day, as ever.

a page that grows with you. the paper now opens as you write. a new rule appears only when your words reach it, so the page is never emptier or shorter than the day you're having. long days still dissolve softly at the edges, and now whole words melt away instead of half a letter. three new cursive hands, too: 'ribbon', warm and flowing, 'quill', slanted and quick, and 'clover', an easy everyday hand. settings now shows you the hand that is really drawing your words. and the first page asks a little less of you, with an opening line that meets you at the hour you're writing. three lines a day, as ever.

words that never run off the page. (thanks Nits for suggesting this!) long days now read in full. the words scroll gently, dissolving at the edges of the page, so no thought gets cut short. readable handwriting is free now too: the 'noon' hand, clear and easy on the eyes, for everyone. and a little gallery to pick your hand right from the start, plus a few quiet fixes to onboarding and the fit on taller screens. three lines a day, as ever.

a hand for every language. triday now writes japanese, korean, chinese, arabic, hebrew, thai and hindi in real handwriting, each language with its own warm hand. new hands to choose in settings. and behind the scenes, quiet work to keep triday calm, quick, and a little better every time. three lines a day, as ever.

a hand for every language. triday now writes japanese, korean, chinese, arabic, hebrew, thai and hindi in real handwriting, each language with its own warm hand. new hands to choose in settings. and behind the scenes, quiet work to keep triday calm, quick, and a little better every time. three lines a day, as ever.

a little polish. we smoothed a few edges and tidied things behind the scenes, so writing your day stays calm and quick. nothing new to learn, nothing in the way. just triday, a little more itself. three lines a day, as ever.

the diary, at your size. the words you write can now be as large or as small as you like. open settings, tap text size, and slide from 1 to 10 until your three lines read just right. only the diary resizes, never the app around it, and the size shows as a number you can remember and set back anytime. three lines a day. now at a size that suits you.

a few quiet refinements. nothing loud this time. a smoother way in, a few rough edges sanded down, and some care taken in the quiet corners of the app. the kind of polish you feel more than see, all in service of the same calm minute at the end of your day. three lines a day. nothing more.

the evening bell, set right. your nightly nudge to write your three now arrives when you asked it to, every evening. it shows up even if triday is already open, and if notifications had quietly slipped off, the app points you straight to the switch. three lines a day. and a bell you can trust to ask.

a calmer evening, a clearer week. the evening nudge was showing up twice for some of you. it's back to a single, gentle one. and the calendar now starts the week the way your phone does, sunday or monday. three lines a day, as ever.

new hands. three new ways to write your days: felt, linen, and breeze. that brings us to nine handwriting styles, which is either generosity or indecision. pick whichever one feels like you. (and if the old one read a little like a doctor's note, we heard you.) the welcome is warmer too. it learns your name, lets you choose a hand you can actually read, and quietly puts a pen in your hand on day one. three lines a day. now in your handwriting, not ours.

a quiet tidying. small fixes and smoother edges, mostly behind the scenes. nothing you'll notice, which is rather the point. three lines a day, kept a little steadier.

a quieter, sturdier triday. - your words stay put now. if your phone runs low and shuts us down mid-sentence, we'll have kept what you were writing. nothing kept was ever lost, and now nothing half-written is either. - triday no longer loses its nerve when a phone call interrupts your pencil. it used to. we don't talk about it. - paper finally has a proper picker: light, dusk, night. one tap, no guessing. - the lock draws the curtain the moment you peek at the app switcher, and your days now rest encrypted on disk too. private things, kept private. - a few small words had been quietly speaking english in every language. they've been sent home. - longer days now export to a pdf without running off the page. - the evening bell stops pretending it's on when you've told your phone no. three lines a day. now with fewer of ours.

the diary learned to let go. - rewrite any day. typos, second thoughts, light revisionist history. we don't judge. - let a day go. two quiet taps, and it never happened. - delete all data. one red button in settings. everything, everywhere, gone for good. deep breath. - five new hands to write in: whisper, charcoal, morning, drift, ink. same you, different handwriting. three lines, every day. now entirely yours.