Send wallpapers right when your love needs them most

Xabier starts his night shift on Tuesdays and Fridays. At 10:18 p.m. he clocks in, and for eight hours his phone stays silent inside his locker. Gala learned to schedule wallpapers for 4:37 a.m., when he heads down to the coffee machine on the fourth floor. Nothing big: a photo of the cat, a sleepy good morning, sometimes just a clumsily drawn heart. Xabier pulls out his phone, sees the wallpaper, takes one breath, and goes back up. Gala, meanwhile, has been asleep for six hours. The gesture exists because she thought about it on a Sunday afternoon with a coffee in her hand, not because she woke up at four in the morning.

The 17th of every month has been their anniversary ever since their first kiss on a terrace in Cimavilla. Five years means sixty monthly anniversaries. Ariadna doesn't remember all of them, and neither does Bruno, and that's been the private joke of their relationship for years. Until Ariadna discovered she could leave wallpapers scheduled. Now, a few days before each 17th, she sits down for ten minutes and gets the next one ready. At 7:08 a.m. on February 17th, Bruno unlocked his phone in a hotel in Huesca and saw a photo of them in Bruges with a giant number on it: 61. He laughed to himself in the kitchen. He's been going seven months without knowing which number will show up on the next 17th.

Nerea's shifts are 24 hours long, and for the first 14 she can still check her phone. After hour 14, she can't. It took Valentín a year to understand that calls at 7:22 p.m. were an unintentional cruelty. For a few months now, on shift days he's been scheduling a wallpaper for 3:02 a.m. — the hour he knows she steps out into the hallway for a moment to breathe. She sees it when she checks the time, before a nurse comes to tell her what's next. Valentín, asleep. The wallpaper, awake. The idea of him arriving at an hour when he couldn't have sent it himself is exactly what helps Nerea carry the night with a little less weight.