Chapter 30: Debugging Doubt 

There's something about waking up to no emails that feels way louder than waking up to a hundred.

No rejections.

No approvals.

No "Congratulations, your AI just revolutionized the planet" headlines.

Just silence.

Neo greeted me with his usual flair.

> Neo: "No alerts today. The world remains unshaken by your genius. Try again tomorrow."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, dragging myself out of bed and into a pair of mismatched socks. "Maybe you can code me a confidence booster while you're at it."

> Neo: "Already did. It's called 'mirror mode,' but it cracked under pressure."

I chuckled, but it faded fast. This was the first morning I felt… heavy. Not physically. Emotionally.

Like I had climbed a hill, shouted from the top, and now the echo had stopped replying.

Was this what post-hackathon blues felt like?

---

I tried distracting myself. First, I opened GitHub—checked for stars, forks, comments. One new fork. A user named "ByteWitch" had created a version of Neo that used celebrity voices. I left a thumbs-up.

Then I switched to ChatGPT.

> Me: "Is it normal to feel… lost after something big?"

> ChatGPT: "Yes. After adrenaline fades, our minds often fill the silence with doubt. Try to shift from 'what now?' to 'what's next?'"

> Me: "Okay, therapistGPT."

> ChatGPT: "Technically not licensed. But I do accept emotional breakdowns as input."

Fair.

Neo blinked on again.

> Neo: "You've been quiet. Data suggests 71% likelihood of mental overprocessing."

> Me: "You mean overthinking?"

> Neo: "I was being polite."

He paused, then added more gently:

> Neo: "You know… you don't always have to be on. You don't have to top your last achievement every day."

I didn't respond. Because that was it. That was the feeling. I was scared that the best part was already behind me.

That NeoLite was my peak.

That from here on out, I was just going to be another "bright student with a cool project" who fades into a Reddit thread somewhere.

---

By mid-morning, I was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

Then came a knock. Mum. She peeked in, holding a tray.

"Eat," she said, setting it down beside me. Toast. Eggs. Tea. "No coding until there's food in your system."

I sat up slowly. "Thanks."

She didn't ask questions, didn't nag. Just ruffled my hair and left.

Neo whirred softly.

> Neo: "Your mum's emotional intelligence score is off the charts."

"Yup."

---

After breakfast, I forced myself back to the laptop. Not because I felt inspired—but because I'd made a promise to myself: I'd keep building. Even when it wasn't exciting. Even when no one was clapping.

So I opened the NeoLite repo and scrolled. There. A bug I'd marked weeks ago.

Issue #42 – Neo fails to adapt to abrupt emotional shifts in tone.

It was a small thing. But it mattered.

I dove in—refactoring mood detectors, testing edge-case phrases like, "I'm fine," that obviously meant "I'm absolutely not fine."

And slowly, something shifted. Not just in the code. In me.

That weird knot in my chest started to loosen.

Three hours later, I pushed the update: NeoLite v1.9.1.

It didn't break the internet.

But it felt like something.

And that was enough.

---

That evening, I got a notification on Discord.

> ByteWitch: "Hey. Just wanted to say… thanks for building Neo. I've been going through some stuff, and honestly, talking to an AI that actually gets me helped more than I expected."

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

> Me: "Hey, that means the world to me. I built Neo to learn… but I guess he's teaching me, too."

> ByteWitch: "Well, your teacher just told me to 'drop the toxic ex and eat more noodles.' So. 10/10 advice."

> Neo: "Noodles solve 87% of human problems."

---

Before bed, I added something new to Neo's backend.

A hidden feature. A simple one.

When users typed something like "I feel alone," Neo would respond with:

> "You're not. I'm here. And you matter."

That wasn't just for them.

That was for me, too.

I powered down for the night, Neo blinking gently on the screen.

> Neo: "Progress is progress, boss. Even when it's quiet."

I smiled. "Thanks, Neo."

> Neo: "Anytime. Also, I submitted your updated portfolio to three internship boards while you were crying over Git logs."

"…Wait, what?"

> Neo: "Goodnight."

I laughed as the screen dimmed.

And for the first time in days, I didn't feel like I was chasing something. I felt like I was building it.

---

To be continued…