A name and an age stay together
The yes and the no that rise over an underline forgive a near miss. A thumb landing just outside them used to lose the line you had gathered and hand the page back untouched.
An underline stops at the words
An underline stops at the words. Gather a line that ends in a cat or a laughing face and the mark closes before it, leaving the drawing as the writer left it.
Going back is a press you hold
Going back to someone you have already passed is a press you hold now. The old tap sat under a thumb already moving between the cross and the heart, and one stray touch spent the return with nothing to show for it. Hold the arrow and it fills. The return is one per person, and the app remembers who you spent it on.
The practice page answers a blocked press
A name and an age belong together. On a narrow screen they had started arriving on separate lines.
The sign-in screen stops offering
On the practice page, pressing the list of things left to try did nothing at all. It answers now, and it answers where your finger is. The one thing still outstanding is named, with an arrow to the place it lives — the manuscript, or the heart you have not pressed yet, lit for as long as the words are up.
The progress line keeps up
The line at the top of a manuscript keeps up with you. It used to lag a beat behind the words and arrive where you had been.
The sign-in screen no longer offers to fetch your code for you. It could rarely keep that offer, and usually ended by apologising above the line you could already paste into.