Prarthana Purohit

The audience is people who verify claims for a living. Polished product renders would work against the message, so the “See it in Action” section shows the actual Raspberry Pi terminal — my username and all — split into three tabs so the pipeline reads as a story: identity → capture → publish.

Every decentralization project ships a black site with neon gradients. OpenVeil is about evidence and human rights, not speculation — so the page is warm paper with black type, and darkness is reserved for the two objects that earn it: the architecture diagram and the terminals. The contrast makes them the obvious focal points.

Device identity → capture → sign & publish. That trio appears in the hero diagram, the tabbed demo, and the feature list — the same mental model at three zoom levels. Seven deep technical features (Rust runtime, ZKP compatibility, enclave support) exist on the page, but only after the simple version has landed.

Blue only ever marks something you can click. When color means action, nobody hunts for the buttons.

Every failure state in the demo teaches recovery — down to naming the missing CORS header. The unhappy paths took longer to design than the happy one.

The site has full light and dark modes, but the terminal never changes costume. Light mode just gets a window into it.

Early sketches had a browsable grid of developers. It turned people into thumbnails. One full-width card forces you to actually read a person before deciding — and it made the mobile and desktop layouts nearly identical for free.

The edit form sits next to a live preview of your own card, updating as you type. You’re never styling abstract fields — you’re looking at exactly what strangers will judge in three seconds. Completion went up because vanity is a great motivator.

Messaging is gated behind an accepted request — no cold DMs by design. It’s more code (requests, accept/reject states, gating) but it’s the difference between a network and an inbox full of “hi.” Building the API myself meant I could enforce it server-side, not just hide a button.

The mood scale pairs each face with its label — Very Sad through Very Happy — because a 😐 means different things to different people on different days. It also keeps the scale usable with a screen reader, which matters more here than in most apps.

“Get AI Suggestions to Improve Mood” is deliberately its own hot-pink action, visually separate from the calm purple “Save.” On your lowest day, unsolicited advice from software is the last thing you want — so the AI waits to be asked. Opt-in was the design; the color contrast is what enforces it.

An app should know its limits. Counselor cards carry what actually builds trust — specialization, credentials, years of experience, rating, availability — and end in one verb: Book Appointment. The most important flow in a wellness app is the one that leads out of it.

Forest green for DevConnect, calm purple for MindfulHub, warm cream for OpenVeil and ngx-l402 — each palette comes from what the product is for, and each app commits to one identity instead of borrowing a trend. Range matters more to me than a house style.

Engineers get terminals and config files as hero images. People having a hard day get soft cards and plain sentences. Same designer, opposite vocabularies — the audience picks the language, not my taste.

I never draw something I can’t build, and I never blame a developer for what shipped. When I work with a team, handoff is a conversation instead of a PDF thrown over a wall — I speak both dialects.