Chapter 14: Too Little, Too Late?

The Breaking Point

Debasish grips his pen so tightly that his knuckles turn white. The physics textbook in front of him blurs as his vision unfocuses. His mind isn’t here—not really. It’s floating between panic, regret, and a terrible, sinking dread.

45 days left.

That number looms over him like a death sentence.

Yet—his syllabus is incomplete.

His revision is almost nonexistent.

His mock tests sit unchecked, filled with mistakes he hasn’t analyzed.

Where does he even start?

"Physics? But my concepts are weak. Maybe Biology? No, I haven’t revised my notes. Chemistry? I haven’t even touched Organic in weeks."

His mind spirals. He flips through pages, trying to latch onto something—anything—but nothing makes sense. The equations feel foreign. The diagrams blur together.

The pressure is unbearable.

A lump rises in his throat. His chest feels tight, as if the very air is refusing to enter his lungs.

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to breathe.

But the more he tries to focus, the more his brain rebels. It’s like trying to fill a bucket with water, but there’s a hole at the bottom—everything just leaks away before he can grasp it.

---

Regret Hits Like a Storm

For the first time, he sees the past three years for what they truly were.

The wasted hours.

The mindless scrolling.

The late nights on his phone, telling himself, “Just five more minutes.”

The days he lied to himself—

"I’ll study tomorrow."

And now?

Tomorrow is here.

And he is not ready.

His throat tightens. His fingers dig into his scalp as he buries his face in his hands.

"What have I done?"

The realization crashes into him like a tsunami, pulling him under, suffocating him.

If he had controlled his addiction earlier…

If he had started revision sooner…

If he had been serious from the beginning…

Would he be in this mess?

His breath turns shaky. His pulse pounds in his ears. His hands tremble over his notebook, and suddenly—

A wave of self-hatred.

"You ruined everything."

The thought cuts through him like a knife.

His own mind is his worst enemy. It doesn’t scream—it whispers, cruel and relentless:

"You had all the time in the world. And you threw it away."

---

A Dangerous Thought

A different thought slithers into his mind.

"What if I just… stop trying?"

For a second, he considers it.

Closing his books.

Turning off the lights.

Lying down.

Giving up.

Just… accepting failure.

Because what’s the point now?

45 days isn’t enough.

He can’t finish the syllabus.

He can’t master what he ignored for years.

The mountain is too steep.

His fingers hover over his phone. The urge to escape is unbearable. One video, one distraction, and he won’t have to think about this anymore.

Wouldn’t that be easier?

Wouldn’t that be less painful?

---

The Fight Within

But then—another thought.

A voice.

His mother.

Tired, sick, working overtime, yet still cooking his favorite meals.

His father.

Silently enduring his own struggles, yet still paying for Debasish’s coaching fees.

His sister.

Crying alone in her room, because she failed NEET. Because she lost hope.

And he?

He was about to throw it all away?

No.

His grip on the pen tightens.

Even if he has wasted three years.

Even if 45 days seem impossible.

Even if his chances are slim.

He can’t walk away.

He turns the page.

And he begins.

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