Two students who got sick of websites that feel the same.
A website should feel like something is actually there with you. It should react when you move, have real weight, build and land like a piece of music instead of just sitting on a screen. Early 2026 was the year making one got easy: type a sentence, wait a minute, done. The strange part wasn't that they worked. It's that you could open ten of them and they were all wearing the same outfit: the same hero, the same three cards, the same soft fade, the same off-white. Nobody had been in the room, and somehow you could feel it.
That sameness quietly bothers us. Not in a big-manifesto way, more in a "why does every new site feel like it rolled off the same conveyor belt" way. So we do the opposite of generating one. We sit with yours, decide what moves and when, build it for real, and pin every beat to your scroll until it has a heartbeat instead of just passing the test. The one line we won't cross is shipping something a machine could have made with nobody watching.
And we're honest about who "we" is: it's the two of us. Undergrads, no account manager in the middle, no logo to hide behind. Bala builds it; Maytri came up through art before falling into code, and runs the design and the story. We work this way because we wish more of the web were made this way. Short on time, never on care.
It's slower. That's the whole point.
Anyone can generate a website now. Almost nobody bothers to direct one.
The team
Two people, no account managers
I got hooked on computers far too young and built my first real websites in 9th grade. Some of them are somehow still being used by old classmates today, which is a strange and lovely feeling. Four years on, I build the whole thing end to end, the part you see and the quieter part that keeps it standing. Now that AI makes the building fast, I care less about the code and more about whether the idea is any good. My favourite moment is still the same one: shipping something and watching a real person reach out and touch it.
I started in art (the kind where you'll fuss over a single edge for an hour) and wandered into code somewhere along the way and never left. So I do both now: I sketch how a site should feel, then actually build it, so it's never just a pretty shell. I've made tools for a government lab and shipped sites at an agency, which is mostly where I learned how things break the moment real people touch them. Hand me a half-formed idea and I'm happiest turning it into something that finally holds its shape.