Set a timer for 20 minutes and get an alarm at zero. Free, instant, and no account required.
20 minutes remaining of 20 minutes
Keeps time in a background tab. Works on a phone. Share one countdown with a room if more than one person needs it.
Twenty minutes is the nap that leaves you better rather than worse, the study block that fits between two other things, and the length of every rule about screens, posture and eyes. It is the most common answer to "how long should this be" outside of an hour.
Twenty minutes keeps you out of deep sleep, which is what separates a nap from waking up worse than you started.
Every twenty minutes, twenty seconds looking twenty feet away. The interval is the part nobody remembers without a timer.
Long enough for a chapter, short enough that you will start it. Pair it with a five-minute break.
Set twenty, do one room, stop at the alarm. It is a different activity from cleaning the house.
Twenty minutes of sitting before you move is the number most physios settle on.
The most common single-stage roast, and the one where a guess costs dinner.
It is already set to twenty minutes, so there is nothing to type and nothing to choose. The timer is the first thing on the page.
The countdown begins immediately and the ring starts emptying. The tab title counts down too, so you can watch it from another tab.
Switch tabs, lock the phone, let the laptop sleep. It is counting to a fixed end time, not adding up ticks, so it stays correct.
A chime repeats until you stop it, and a browser notification arrives if you allowed one. Reset restarts the 20 minute timer, or switch to another length in one click.
Most free timers are an interval and a beep. Under a background tab, an interval is the first thing a browser throttles.
It counts to a real end time rather than adding up ticks, so a hidden tab, a locked phone or a sleeping laptop cannot make it drift. Come back and it already shows the right number.
The ring empties as the time goes, which reads from across a room and suits anyone who does not carry an accurate sense of elapsed time. Full screen turns it into a wall clock.
A chime at zero, repeated rather than sounded once, plus a browser notification if you allow one. Mute is a single click, and the tab title counts down either way.
Nothing here is gated. There is no interstitial before the timer starts and no video playing next to it.
While it runs it asks the browser not to dim the display, so a phone propped on a counter still shows the time left.
Add a minute or five without restarting, pause and resume where you left off, or switch to another length in one click.
Create a countdown, send the link, and every browser that opens it ends on the same second — with a pause that stops the whole room. Still no account, still nothing to install.
This page will still be here tomorrow, free, and for a lot of people that is the whole relationship. But a countdown is only the last five minutes of a decision that started somewhere else, and the useful question is not how long you sat down for. It is whether the sitting down added up to anything.
EvyOS is where that part lives. The same timer, attached to a real task, a habit you are keeping or a skill you are logging hours against, so a 20 minutes session becomes a record instead of a moment. Goals hold projects, projects hold tasks, and the practice you put in is counted rather than remembered.
EvyOS holds the goals, projects, tasks, habits and skills the timer is in service of, and counts the sessions you actually did.
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