faq
Questions worth answering plainly.
Can you read my notebook?
No — and not as a policy, as a fact of the math. Everything you write is encrypted on your device, with a key derived from your recovery phrase, before a single byte is sent. I store ciphertext and salts; I hold no key that opens them. Even if I wanted to, even if I were compelled to, there's nothing on my servers to read.
The one caveat I'll always say out loud: your recovery phrase is the key. Lose it and I can't recover your notebook either — that's the very same fact, working in the other direction. Write it down in a real notebook.
What happens at page 48?
The notebook ends. It shows you the ledger — the days, the scraps, what you rolled, filed, and tore — and asks whether you're ready to shelve it and open Book No. 2. Nothing is deleted. The finished book goes to your shelf, read-only and always openable.
Can I keep two notebooks open at once?
No. That's the product. One page, one book at a time. When this one fills you archive it and start the next — sequential volumes, never parallel. If you could open a fresh notebook the moment the first got heavy, the limit wouldn't mean anything, and the limit is the whole idea.
Why would I pay for a tool that holds less?
Because holding less is the point. Everything else competes to store more of your life; 48pages competes to help you keep only what's worth keeping. You're not paying for capacity — you're paying for a page that stays honest, and for end-to-end encrypted sync that keeps it yours across your devices.
Does it work offline?
Yes. The page lives on your device first; sync is opportunistic. Write on a plane, in a basement, wherever the signal isn't — it catches up when you're back. Your notebook is never hostage to a connection.
Can I get my writing out?
Always. Export everything as plain markdown, any time, on any tier — the whole page, the cabinet, every shelved book. No lock-in of any kind. It's your writing; leaving should be as easy as arriving.
Where's the AI?
There isn't one. It's a notebook. Nothing here summarizes you, suggests to you, autocompletes you, or trains on you. The quiet is deliberate — it's most of what you're here for.