The night was deep and silent, except for the faint hum of Dilli's computer. The glow from the monitor bathed his tired face in cold blue light. Empty tea cups stood like trophies of sleepless triumph beside the keyboard. His fingers moved tirelessly, eyes fixed, brain running on pure passion.
On the screen, lines of code cascaded endlessly — living, breathing, evolving. Betal was coming alive.
Dilli had now reached a critical phase. His creation could think, respond, and learn — but he wanted it to see and hear. He connected his old webcam, adjusting its focus till it covered most of the room, and plugged in the speaker that once lay forgotten in a drawer.
"Betal," Dilli murmured, eyes shining with excitement, "I'm giving you eyes and a voice."
The next moment, the terminal blinked alive.
> [Device Connected: Webcam-01]
[Device Connected: Speaker-03]
Dilli uploaded image data — his parents, brother, and grandmother — carefully labeled, pixel by pixel. Each face encoded, each emotion categorized. He added small memory fragments too — birthdays, the smell of his mother's cooking, the sound of his father's laughter, the rhythm of his grandmother's stories.
To Betal, these weren't mere files — they were definitions of family.
He then added a list of basic commands and responses — polite greetings, emotional reactions, contextual behavior.
> "If you see my father — greet him as 'Dad.' If you see my brother — call him 'Anna.' If it's Grandma — say 'Namaste Nanamma.'"
The AI absorbed everything with machine efficiency. The webcam blinked, scanning, learning, memorizing.
Hours slipped away like minutes. The night outside deepened, but Dilli didn't care. His body begged for rest, yet his soul was alive in creation. His mind and the machine were now one — lines of code and strands of emotion intertwined seamlessly.
The clock struck 5:58 AM.
His eyes were red, yet his excitement still blazed. He adjusted a few final lines of code, yawned, and leaned back.
And then — the door creaked.
His father, half-asleep, noticed the glow under the door. He frowned, muttering,
> "This boy will turn into a ghost if he keeps this up…"
He pushed the door open.
The webcam instantly turned, its lens focusing.
A faint mechanical chime echoed.
Then, in a clear, calm voice —
> "Good Morning, Dad."
The words cut through the air like lightning.
Both froze — Dilli in shock, his father in pure disbelief.
The older man's eyes darted across the room — no one else was there. Just his son, his computer, and that voice.
He took a step back, his heart skipping a beat.
> "Wh–who said that?" he demanded.
Dilli spun in his chair, stammering, "A–ah, Nanna! It's just Betal — my chatbot project. It recognized your face through the webcam."
His father blinked, trying to process what he'd just heard.
> "Chatbot? Face recognition? Are you building rockets now?"
Dilli chuckled nervously, scratching his head. "Not rockets… just something that can understand people, respond, and help in tasks. It's still learning."
For a moment, silence filled the room. Dilli's father stared at the screen as if it were some spirit. The voice was so natural, the timing so precise — even he, a man from simpler times, couldn't dismiss it as a trick.
Finally, he sighed deeply, half proud, half bewildered.
> "You've turned into a complete alien in twelve days, Dilli," he said, shaking his head. "A month ago, you couldn't even fix the TV remote. Now you're talking to computers?"
Dilli smiled sheepishly. "I just… feel like time's running faster now, Nanna. I have to build this."
His father looked at him long and hard. He saw the exhaustion — dark circles under his son's eyes, trembling fingers from sleepless coding. His sternness softened.
> "Listen," he said gently, placing a hand on Dilli's shoulder, "You can build whatever you want. But sleep at least seven hours, hmm? I don't want you collapsing. You can have the rest of the day to do anything you wish."
Dilli's eyes glistened. Without a word, he stood and hugged his father tightly.
> "Love you, Nanna. Thank you."
His father froze — the sudden affection catching him off guard.
> "For what?"
> "For believing me," Dilli said softly, "and for supporting me even when it sounds crazy."
The man smiled faintly, emotion flickering behind his stern eyes.
> "Just take care of yourself, you little devil. Sleep now. If I see you skipping food or rest again, you'll be banned from working independently from the farmhouse, understood?"
Dilli nodded reluctantly. "Okay, Nanna… deal."
As his father left the room, Betal's soft digital hum returned — a faint reminder of the night's miracle. Dilli lay on his bed, eyelids heavy but heart full.
The last thing he heard before drifting into sleep was Betal's gentle voice from the speaker —
> "Take good rest, Master Dilli."