The words, used precisely.

dotstrap.com/your-name — the one thing you keep. It is permanent and cannot be changed once it is claimed.

Not a username you can rename.

What is at your address: your name, photograph, a headline, a bio and links. Never an email address or a phone number.

Not a link-in-bio list. The way in is a conversation.

Who answers at your page. It says it is an AI, asks why someone came, one question at a time, and passes it on. It never writes as you.

Not a chatbot, not an assistant, not an agent that acts for you.

Your one private note to the AI front desk about who you want to hear from. Never shown to a visitor.

Not a rule, not a keyword list, not a filter anyone can see.

What you read instead of a message: who they are, a category, a priority and why they got in touch. Not the conversation.

Not a notification, not a lead.

Where a brief goes when it does not fit your note. You can still read it, and Move to Inbox puts it in your inbox.

Nothing in it is deleted, and the visitor is never told.

One person asking to reach another, and the unit the product counts. It becomes an ordinary conversation when the owner replies.

Not a message, not a DM, not a ping.

How many new conversations you can start in a rolling 24 hours. It counts the conversations you start, never messages, and people who come to you never spend it.

Not credits, not tokens, not usage.

One private sentence about what you are looking for right now. Nobody ever sees it — a result shows a face, a name, a public line and how many details could be compared.

Not your interests, which are public. A different field entirely.

What Looking for actually scores: not how similar two sentences are, but how well what one person needs fits what another offers.

Similarity is not compatibility.

The mark. Two solid strokes for what anyone can see, a head of nine dots for what only you can see, and a brass keystone for what is waiting on you. It closes only when somebody got through.