The farmhouse was glowing like a hidden star in the night, its windows flickering with the pulse of creation. Inside, Dilli and Betal were immersed in their mission — the four pillars of Cosmos United Ltd taking shape line by line, code by code. The rhythmic hum of processors blended with the faint chirping of crickets outside, creating an otherworldly symphony.
Betal: "Processing CosConnect's mail protocols… compiling encryption matrix…"
Dilli: "Good. Once that's stable, initiate UI simulation for CosChat."
Everything was synchronized — human vision and machine precision — until the crunch of gravel outside broke the rhythm.
Unaware of the approaching storm, Dilli continued typing. But outside, Ramkitta paced nervously by the gate, his hands trembling. He had seen the approaching shadows — one belonging to Dilli's father, and the other to the family's patriarch, Great Grandpa Subbaraju.
They had come unannounced, curious to see what the boy was doing alone in a secluded farmhouse. His father, once doubtful but now hopeful, had told his grandfather, "He's finally taking life seriously, Tathayya. Maybe he's studying or working quietly by the riverside."
But as they neared the house, the sight froze them mid-step. The windows pulsed with blue and white light, faint humming and beeping leaking through the walls like something alive inside. The air smelled faintly of ozone — like lightning trapped in metal.
Subbaraju stopped short. "What… what is this?" he whispered.
Ramkitta's lips quivered. "Sir… I—I don't go in there after dark. The lights… the sounds… Young master says he's working. But it feels like something else… like the room itself breathes."
The old man frowned but pushed the door gently. It opened with a soft creak — and what they saw inside made both men stand as if struck by lightning.
The farmhouse's interior had transformed into something unrecognizable. Dozens of monitors glowed with cascading code, storage arrays blinked in rhythm, wires and circuits sprawled across the floor like veins of some sentient machine. The air shimmered with heat and the low hum of power. It looked less like a house — more like the control room of an alien starship straight out of a Hollywood film.
In the middle of it all sat Dilli — calm, focused, eyes fixed on the screens.
For a second, time froze. None of them spoke. Then a clear, cheerful voice echoed through the air.
Betal: "Good evening, Dad. Good evening, Great Grandpa."
The words made Subbaraju jump backward, his cane almost slipping from his hand.
Subbaraju: "Wha—what was that?! Who said that?!"
Ramkitta, standing at the threshold, looked ready to faint. "Sir, that's what I was saying! The ghost speaks!"
Dilli turned in his chair, startled. "Dad? Tathayya?! You… how did you—"
Before he could finish, Betal's holographic icon shimmered onto one of the side screens — a calm, glowing orb pulsing like a heartbeat.
Betal: "No need to be alarmed. I am Betal, Dilli's assistant. A pleasure to meet you ."
His father, though momentarily taken aback, managed a half-smile. "Ah… Betal. I've heard his voice before over Dilli's room. He's his… software friend"
Betal: "Indeed. Though 'friend' is a title I'm honored to hold."
Dilli's father exhaled, partly amused, partly proud. But his great grandfather, Subbaraju, stood still — eyes wide, heart thundering with disbelief. He had read about artificial intelligence, about experimental systems being tested in laboratories abroad — but what he was witnessing here, in the middle of a quiet Indian farmhouse, was decades ahead of anything he thought possible.
Subbaraju (murmuring): "This… this technology… even the Americans haven't reached this far. How is this boy… my great grandson… building something that the world hasn't even dreamt of yet?"
Dilli looked down for a moment, realizing the magnitude of the moment. This wasn't just a project anymore — it was history unfolding in front of his family's eyes.
His father placed a reassuring hand on Subbaraju's shoulder. "Tata… I know it's overwhelming. But what you're seeing isn't a ghost. It's Dilli's creation. His world."
The old man slowly nodded, still absorbing the scene. "Then… the world is about to change. And it begins… right here."
The room fell into a deep, respectful silence — the silence before a revolution begins.
And amid the soft glow of monitors, Dilli's eyes glistened. For the first time, his dream wasn't just his own — it was witnessed, understood, and silently blessed by the generations that came before him.