That evening, the house was quieter than usual. Dinner plates clinked faintly in the kitchen, the hum of the ceiling fan filled the rooms, and the crickets outside sang their nightly chorus. But inside Dilli's little room, a storm brewed.
He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, the scene at Maharshi Vidya Niketan replaying again and again. His father's voice still echoed in his ears:
"If he fails, blame me. Punish me, not him."
Each time he recalled those words, his chest tightened. He turned to the side and pressed his face into his pillow, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on flowing.
"Why, Daddy?" he whispered to himself. "Why would you put your name, your pride, your friendship on the line… all for me?"
The answer came from memory, soft and unshakable: "Since fathers started believing their sons can move mountains."
Dilli sat up abruptly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. His little wooden study table was piled with textbooks—Mathematics, Science, English, Social Studies. But next to them lay his notebook filled with sketches and scribbles of his dream project: Betal, the AI bot he imagined as his tireless companion.
He dragged the books closer and opened one. The formulas blurred for a moment through his wet eyes, but he forced himself to focus. "I'll show them. I'll score that ninety. And I'll still build Betal. No compromise."
He pulled another notebook toward him and began writing two headings across the top of the page:
1. Quarterly Exams Plan
2. Betal Development Plan
Under the first, he listed the subjects, making rough timetables, dividing hours for revision. Under the second, he jotted ideas about algorithms, how Betal could automate his studies, manage data, assist with memory recall.
His small hands trembled with fatigue, but his heart was blazing with purpose. Every tick of the clock was no longer time wasted—it was an arrow reminding him that October 10th was racing closer.
From the half-open door, a figure stood quietly, watching. Gadhiraju leaned on the frame, arms folded, his stern face softened by the sight of his son bent over both textbooks and dreams. He didn't step in, didn't disturb. He only watched—his eyes filled with both pride and pain.
He should be sleeping… playing… laughing with friends, the father thought. But if he chooses to walk this road, then I will walk beside him until my last breath.
Dilli, unaware of the watchful gaze, clenched his fist over the notebook. His lips moved silently, as though promising the empty air:
Daddy, I'll not just pass. I'll soar. I'll make Betal real. And one day, the whole world will know that your faith in me was the greatest gamble ever made.
The night stretched deep, and though his eyes grew heavy, he didn't stop. Books, notes, and dream sketches mixed into a single battlefield of ink and determination.
Outside, the crickets sang. Inside, a boy's heart transformed into steel—tempered by the fire of a father's love.