I still think about a certain night from time to time. The app I released had accumulated 17 downloads in two weeks. Excluding the ones I asked acquaintances to install, I was trying not to think about what the actual number really was. Lily recorded that number in a spreadsheet, quietly closed her laptop, and rolled onto her bed. It wasn't something worth telling anyone about, but it was too heavy to keep only to herself. That was the kind of night it was. I'm writing this because I want to look back on that night a bit more honestly. When you continue with indie development, you repeatedly encounter the question "why do I create?" Lily hasn't fully answered this yet, but an app she happened to find in the App Store while unable to sleep seemed to secretly give her a hint.
The App She Released After Three Months Remained Silent
In the spring of 2026, Lily created a note and task management hybrid app by herself and released it on the App Store. The reason was simple: she thought "I would be helped by this," but couldn't find it anywhere in existing apps. From design to design to store submission, she did everything alone, progressing bit by bit in the middle of the night, taking three months.
The day the review was approved was truly joyful. But by two weeks after release, the download count was 17, and there was 1 review. That review was a single line: "There's a bug." She fixed it immediately. But it remained silent. Even when she made improvements, she didn't even know if those improvements were reaching anyone. That state continued.
"The Reason to Continue" Became Invisible
Around this time, Lily was seriously considering quitting indie development. Or rather, "losing sight of the reason to continue" might be a more honest way to put it. She didn't feel like anyone was using it, and she didn't know if improvements were actually helping. When such sensations accumulate, even opening code gradually becomes bothersome.
That night was especially bad—she couldn't sleep even though she didn't want to do anything.
Unable to sleep, she scrolled through the App Store without purpose. While searching with keywords like "focus" and "calm," trying out several apps, she stopped at a simple white noise app.
The design wasn't modern-looking; it had a slightly old impression. But the rain sound loop was incredibly smooth, there were no ads, and the operation was completed in a single tap. The price was free, and there was no screen pushing a paid plan.
Before she knew it, she'd been listening for about 30 minutes, and her mood had settled a bit.
3 Reviews and One Sentence
"I wonder who made this," she thought, and tapped the developer name. When she jumped to the App Store developer page, there was only one app listed, and the total number of reviews was 3.
Is 3 reviews a small number or a large number? It's fewer than Lily's own 17 downloads. But she read all three reviews.
The first was a short line: "Simple and helpful." The second was a single phrase: "The lack of ads is the best." And the third said something like this:
"I went through a period of continued insomnia, and I used this app every night. I'm doing a bit better now. Thank you for making it."
Looking at the screen, she couldn't move for a moment.
Does This Person Know?
She thought about the person who wrote that review for a while. A person going through difficult nights. A person who opened this app every evening. And now a person writing "I'm doing a bit better."
Does the developer who created this app know about that person? If they do, how did they feel reading it? Maybe they still don't know to this day.
She was lost in thought about such things.
Right then and there, she wrote a five-star review. A short sentence: "Found it on a sleepless night. Simple and helpful."
Lily had almost never written app reviews before. Even when she thought something was good, she'd somehow put it off, forget about it, and move on. That pattern had continued forever. But that night, she couldn't help but write.
She wanted it to reach the person who made this app. "Your creation helped someone feel a little better."
After pressing send, she felt a bit embarrassed, but also like something had been released.
Even If Numbers Aren't Visible, Someone Might Be Using It
Since reading that review, Lily changed her approach to her own app a bit.
Until then, there was a sense somewhere that "it's meaningless if download numbers don't increase." The numbers were the only visible proof, and without them, she thought no one was reaching it. But seeing a developer supported by 3 reviews shook that belief.
Numbers are only a visible part. The feelings of people using it don't show up in numbers. That might be obvious, but understanding something intellectually and understanding it emotionally are different. That night, Lily felt like she truly "understood it emotionally" for the first time.
An Unknown Someone's Midnight Is Changing an Unknown Someone's Morning
Most indie developers create bit by bit in the middle of the night alongside their main work. No one asked them to, and they don't know if there will be compensation, yet they still try to create something.
That "something" reaches unknown hands and flows into an unknown someone's sleepless night. The creator doesn't know. The user doesn't know about the creator either.
But there is definitely a connection there. Not followers, not sales, not fame—a quieter kind of connection. Maybe Lily wrote that review because she wanted to participate in that connection in a small way.
From that night on, she changed one small behavior. For apps she found helpful, she started writing reviews right away. So far, she's written reviews for 9 apps. There's a feeling of gratitude toward the developers, but more than that, it's closer to "I want to participate in this chain myself."
About her own app, she's still honestly anxious. She doesn't really know if anyone is using it. Whether improvements are reaching people, whether anything is helping anyone—there are far more unmeasurable parts than measurable ones.
But since that night seeing 3 reviews, she's been able to hold onto the feeling that "invisible doesn't mean zero."
Someone's midnight work might be changing an unknown someone's morning. That probably applies to Lily's own midnight work too. Thinking that way, she feels like she can open code again, just a little.
She hasn't given up yet. She decided to keep moving her hands.
Lily（@bokuwalily）― Indie developer. Creating iOS apps and web services in tandem with AI
🎁 A Free Bonus for Reading to the End: LINEで「自動化」と送って受け取る（実装テンプレ7本）
Lily（@bokuwalily）― After leading a marketing organization of 50 people as CMO, I now create iOS apps and web services individually. I consult on customer acquisition, user flow design, and AI implementation and business automation
🖥️ Works and articles → bokuwalily.com
🐙 OSS → github.com/bokuwalily
🌍 Latest info and inquiries → X @bokuwalily
