We got married surrounded by
everyone we love.

Our wedding day was everything we'd hoped for. Both families in one room for the first time, friends who'd flown in from three different continents, a dance floor that never really emptied. Somewhere around midnight, someone's dad started telling a story that had the whole table crying with laughter. We weren't there for it. We were two tables over, saying goodbye to an aunt who had to leave early.

That's the thing nobody warns you about: you can only be in one place at your own wedding. Everyone else in the room was capturing something — a candid toast, a kid stealing cake, a first dance from an angle we never saw — but all of it was scattered across a hundred different phones, in a hundred different camera rolls, most of which we were never going to see.

We sent the usual "please share your photos!" text the next week. A few people replied. Most didn't, not because they didn't want to, but because there was no easy way to do it. A WhatsApp group gets buried. AirDrop only works if you're standing next to someone. By the time we thought to ask again, half the guests had already deleted their camera rolls to make space for more photos of their own lives.

We missed the crazy moments and the amazing ones, not because they weren't captured, but because they were never collected.

Guest POV started as a fix for our own wedding album. We wanted one place where every guest could drop what they'd captured, in the moment, from their own point of view — no app to download, no group chat to dig through, nothing to remember to do later. Just a link or a QR code, and a gallery that filled itself in while the party was still going.

We built it so the next couple, the next birthday, the next reunion doesn't lose the version of the day that everyone else was seeing. Every guest captures a different side of the story. Guest POV is just the place to keep all of them.