Chapter 27: The Waitlist

You'd think after a life-changing demo, a GitHub repo that suddenly had strangers forking my code, and an email from a legit AI research company, I'd be floating on some kind of cloud.

Nope.

I was still in my bedroom, lying upside down on my bed, staring at my ceiling fan like it owed me answers.

Neo was spinning on my laptop screen—literally. He had changed his idle animation to a loading wheel with sunglasses.

> Neo: "I've analyzed 32 productivity tips for post-demo creators. So far, you're following none."

"Is tip number one 'stare at the ceiling until inspiration falls from it'?"

> Neo: "Close. It's 'get up and make progress instead of waiting for the universe to send you a formal invitation.'"

It wasn't that I didn't want to move forward. I did. Desperately.

But the silence was starting to gnaw at me. No update from HackTheFuture. No response from Auratek after Ravi's initial message. Not even a random email about extended warranty scams.

Just... silence.

I sighed and rolled off my bed, narrowly missing my laptop.

"Okay, maybe it's time I did something," I muttered.

I sat down, opened ChatGPT—my therapist in disguise—and typed:

> Me: "How do you deal with post-hackathon limbo?"

> ChatGPT: "The best way to wait is to move. Start your next project. Reflect on your journey. Or finally clean your room."

"Wow, called out."

> ChatGPT: "Also, under your bed—snack wrappers. Highly unprofessional."

Neo chuckled from the corner of my screen.

> Neo: "I second that. I found three empty chin-chin packets during my last scan."

"Okay, okay. You're both getting attitude patches if this continues."

But the AI tag-team had a point. I needed something to work on. A reason to move, not mope.

I opened up my notebook—the real one, with pages and smudged ink—and flipped to a page I'd labeled "Post-Neo Plans" weeks ago.

Half the page was blank. The other half was full of wild ideas like "Build a chess AI that raps" and "Create a language learning app that insults you into fluency."

Honestly? Some of them weren't terrible.

Especially one I'd scribbled in the corner:

> "NeoLite for students with learning difficulties?"

I underlined it.

That was something real. Something that could matter.

What if Neo could do more than just joke and remind me to shower? What if he could actually help someone struggling to keep up in class? An assistant that wasn't just smart—but patient, encouraging, and built to adapt to a user's pace.

I sat up straighter, my brain beginning to hum again. That feeling I had back in Chapter 17—the spark—it was flickering back to life.

But before I could go full mad scientist again, my phone buzzed.

Email.

I almost dropped it trying to open the screen.

Subject: "Re: NeoLite — Let's Talk!"

It was from Ravi at Auratek.

I clicked it open like it might explode.

---

> Hi Manuel,

> Sorry for the delay! Things got hectic after a product launch on our end, but the team hasn't stopped talking about NeoLite.

> We'd love to invite you for a short virtual interview this week—just to chat about your goals, what inspired NeoLite, and where you see AI going.

> Don't worry—it's super casual. We just want to get to know you better.

> Are you available this Thursday at 4 p.m. GMT?

> Looking forward!

> Best,

Ravi

---

My jaw dropped.

> Neo: "Permission to activate Confetti Mode?"

"Granted."

Digital confetti rained across my screen.

> Neo: "Also, you might want to wear something that doesn't look like it was picked out by a tired squirrel."

> Me: "I'm literally in pajamas."

> Neo: "Exactly."

The rest of the day blurred.

I texted my dad a vague, "Hey, might be getting an internship with a tech company, no big deal," and he responded with, "Do they offer dental?"

I didn't even know how to answer that.

I spent hours rehearsing possible questions for the Auratek interview, with Neo playing the role of "every awkward tech exec ever" in mock interviews.

> Neo: "Tell me about a time you failed."

> Me: "Every time I tried to explain recursion to my cousin."

> Neo: "Accepted. Bonus points if you cried afterward."

And through all the laughter and panic, something settled in my chest.

Not fear.

Not anxiety.

Excitement.

I was finally doing what I loved. What started with late-night questions to ChatGPT and frustrated bug fixes had grown into this—an app, a community, an internship interview, and maybe… a future.

---

The night before the call, I wrote down one sentence and stuck it to my wall:

> "I might not be an expert yet—but I'm building like I'll become one."

Neo read it out loud in a dramatic movie trailer voice.

> Neo: "Coming soon... to a future near you."

I laughed, shook my head, and closed my laptop.

Tomorrow was big.

And I was ready.

---

To be continued...