Inaami turns a local place’s offer into a promise — you save it with just your phone number, and it’s kept in person, at the counter, where both of you can see it. No app to install. No signup form. No spam.
Free chai is still free chai. The difference is whether anyone believes it.
Who saw it? Who saved it? Who actually showed up because of it? Nobody knows — twenty minutes per “campaign,” zero tracking. The ad platforms charge per click and let you hope. The stamp cards get lost. And the Tuesday 3 pm slump stays exactly as empty as ever.
✓On Inaami, your offer becomes a promise a stranger can verify — and you see who locked it and who walked in. Not a click report. A walk-in report.
And the last deals app wanted an install, an account, an email, and your data — then your number became spam. The offers you do save scatter across screenshots and chat threads, and quietly expire. Somewhere between you and the café, everything stopped being worth trusting.
On Inaami, a promise saves with ten digits and your number is never sold, never spammed — but can a promise really not die at the counter?
Both sides want the same thing — a direct relationship they can trust. The platforms in between are the problem.
— the idea Inaami is built on. So it removes them. Here’s what’s left — try it right now.
This is a real promise from an imaginary café. It doesn’t shout. It waits for you.
Live demo · nothing is savedAnd if you make the offers — this is exactly what your customers would be holding. I run a café / salon / gym →
Keeping a promise is a two-hand ritual. You show the code from your phone; someone at the counter types their 6-digit confirm on their own screen. Both screens agree, in front of both of you. No blank stare, no “let me ask someone” — the counter is in the loop, not surprised by it.
Nothing is paid here. A promise is kept here.
(Not every promise needs the counter — loyalty cards that stamp themselves and verified reviews settle on their own, quietly. The ritual is for the ones kept in person.)
You already run offers — on posters, in WhatsApp, over the counter. Inaami doesn’t ask you to design a campaign. It asks one question: what do you want people to do? Pick the problem, and it composes the promise that fits — and tells you why, out loud. Tap one:
You see exactly who locked your promise and who actually came through the door. The walk-in is the metric — because the walk-in is the point.
The moment of redemption is between your counter and your customer. No money moves through us at the counter, no aggregator renting your own neighbourhood back to you.
When a reward is the wrong tool for your goal, the studio says so — it will even talk you out of its own credit product. Software on your side of the counter, for once.
Not a click report. A walk-in report — who locked your promise, who came through the door, who rated the visit.
The point was never the redemption. It was the regular.
No pay-per-click. No bidding to reach your own neighbourhood. No commission at the counter.
And when you publish? No success toast. You’re shown the exact reveal your customer will see — the seal cracks, the promise unfolds — so you feel what they’ll feel before a single person locks it.
Trust that depends on good behaviour isn’t trust. These aren’t settings a growth team can flip later — they’re how the product is built.
You’ve seen fake countdowns invent urgency. Here, a timer ticks the promise’s real closing time — and if there isn’t one, it says so: “No closing time — take your time.”
A review counts only after a verified real visit — and the recognition never reads the stars (honest praise you didn’t buy is the only praise worth having). Paying more for praise is how reviews got worthless everywhere else.
What a place learns about you ships switched off. They see you anonymously; your number is shared once, at the counter.
The café owner reduced to a line item on an aggregator. The customer who feels managed, tracked, and nudged. Inaami is built for both of you. No feed. No auction. No commission-hungry middleman. Just a promise, made in your neighbourhood, kept at a counter, proven on both sides — and you just watched it work.
P.S. — now you’ve earned the words. Inside the product, a promise like the one you opened is called a Moment. The shelf it waits on is your Vault. And some Moments bank Sparks — credit that lives at that one place you love. We didn’t lead with the words, because words are cheap. Kept promises aren’t.