The date is on nobody's calendar but yours. Pick a template, fill it with a few photos and a few lines, then send one link — they open it onto something dark, with sound, made for the two of you and nobody else.
The link opens and the number is already running — day one to today, nothing to press. On a day you pinned a photo to, it surfaces and fades while the count keeps going, and it comes to rest on today's number.
A keepsake book taken one step at a time: crack the wax seal to open it, drop the needle on the record to start the music, drag the slider from then to now. Every step asks for a hand.