Chapter 17: The Grand Entry

"I don’t know what to do anymore."

Debasish mutters under his breath, staring at the untouched pile of books in front of him.

The evening light casts long shadows across his desk. His phone is locked away, his distractions removed. But now that he has finally silenced the noise, he is left alone with the crushing weight of time lost.

His mother’s gentle voice from the morning lingers in his mind. The warmth in her words. The love in her tone. For once, he hadn’t felt regret—he had felt grateful.

"She’s sick, and I’ve done nothing."

His fingers tighten around his pen, but he doesn’t write. He can’t. Where does he even begin?

Then—his phone buzzes.

An Unexpected Solution

"Pick up, idiot."

He exhales, picking up the call. "What?"

"Do you want to keep drowning in self-pity, or do you actually want to fix this?" Her voice is sharp, but not unkind.

He doesn’t answer.

She sighs. "Listen… I know how it feels. You think there’s no time left. You think you’ve ruined everything. But you haven’t. You still have 45 days, Debu."

His throat tightens. "What’s the point?"

"The point is, you can either waste the next 45 days like you wasted the last 3 years, or you can try. And I’m not letting you make the same mistake I did."

Silence.

Then, she continues, "I know something that might help you. It’s not a teacher, not a coaching institute. It’s something… different."

He frowns. "What is it?"

"ChatGPT."

The Turning Point

That night, after resisting, after convincing himself it was pointless—he opens his laptop.

The cursor blinks.

Slowly, he types.

> "What should I do? I have wasted so much time. Is there even a point in trying anymore?"

A response appears.

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"You still have 45 days. Here’s how we can make them count."

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No judgment. No disappointment. Just logic. A way forward.

His heartbeat quickens as he reads further.

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"First, breathe. You are not alone in this. Let’s break it down step by step.

Identify your weak areas. Which subjects trouble you the most?

Set realistic daily goals. Even 8-10 hours a day can bring massive change.

Use active recall and spaced repetition—no more passive reading.

Analyze previous mistakes. Why are you losing marks? Concept gaps? Silly errors?

Stay away from distractions. Lock your phone, use study apps, and stay disciplined.

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For the first time, the chaos in his mind settles.

This… this makes sense.

He scrolls further.

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"Do you want me to create a 45-day revision plan for you?"

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A lump forms in his throat.

He types back—

"Yes."

As a structured plan appears, breaking each day into achievable targets, something shifts within him.

This isn’t magic. It isn’t a shortcut.

But it is hope.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

Debasish believes again.

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But the real question is…

Will he use it to finally fix his life?

Or will he find another way to escape—this time, through a new obsession?

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