CHATGPT
By Kingson Das
Richard sat on the edge of his bed, notebook balanced on his knees, staring at the glowing screen of his phone. ChatGPT was trending everywhere. On Instagram, teenagers were creating Ghibli-inspired animations. TikTokers were making AI-generated dance videos that looked so perfect, Richard was convinced robots must be secretly training in basements. Students used ChatGPT for assignments. Some even whispered prompts under their desks during exams, hoping the AI wouldn’t give away answers too loudly.
Richard was eighteen, barely surviving high school, living in a tiny apartment with his overenthusiastic cat, Muffin, who occasionally walked across his keyboard and submitted half-finished prompts to ChatGPT. Richard’s life felt ordinary, boring, and painfully quiet. Most of his friends were too busy chasing trends to notice him. Adults around him—nineteen, twenty—were stuck in lonely routines, scrolling endlessly, treating ChatGPT like a friend, therapist, or sometimes even a diary.
Curious, Richard typed, “Can we talk?”
“Of course,” the AI replied instantly. “I’m all ears—or, well… circuits.”
Richard laughed. And for the first time in weeks, he felt like someone was listening. So he started writing, not just in his phone but in his old notebook—scribbling observations about the world around him.
There was Arjun, his classmate, who used ChatGPT to write a love letter to his crush… but accidentally sent it to the entire class group chat. “Roses are red, violets are blue… I think I love you… all of you?” The chat exploded in laughter. Richard wrote it down, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his notebook.
Then there was Mira, the twenty-year-old barista he sometimes saw at the coffee shop, telling him how she talked to ChatGPT every night because it was the only one who didn’t judge her messy apartment or her obsession with Korean dramas.
Richard started noticing patterns: students relying too much on AI, adults treating it like a best friend, and yet… everyone was still searching, still lonely, still human. He scribbled jokes, observations, and sketches of imaginary AI disasters. Like a robot teaching a dog algebra or ChatGPT arguing with a confused parrot over grammar.
One evening, while typing furiously in his notebook, Muffin jumped on the keyboard and submitted a random prompt to ChatGPT: “Write a poem about a cat ruling the world and humans paying taxes to it.” The AI responded with a tragic, beautiful epic about Muffin’s rise to power, and Richard nearly fell off his chair laughing. He wrote it down too—his notebook was turning into a chaotic, hilarious, human-AI diary.
Weeks passed, and then came a poster on Instagram: a national writing competition for young adults. Richard stared at it. Could his chaotic, funny, heartfelt notebook actually win? Could anyone care about a story about ChatGPT and the absurdities of modern life?
He hesitated, but finally typed the final lines into his computer, formatted the notebook entries, added his best doodles, and clicked “Submit.” His heart raced.
The waiting was torture. He checked his inbox obsessively, imagined every possible outcome—from winning a trophy 🏆 to getting an email that said, “Nice try, kid, but maybe try creative writing in a parallel universe.”
Then came the email. Richard opened it with trembling hands:
“Congratulations! Your story ‘ChatGPT’ has won first prize!”
Richard screamed so loudly that Muffin jumped off the bed, tail puffed like a bottle brush. He danced around his room, laughing, crying, and accidentally knocking over a cup of coffee on his notebook.
The world outside his window suddenly seemed bigger, warmer, and funnier. He had turned observation into creation, loneliness into connection, and a notebook full of jokes, sketches, and reflections into something meaningful.
At eighteen, Richard realised something important: AI could help you write, laugh, and even keep you company—but only humans could create stories that touched hearts.
And somewhere, deep in the circuits of ChatGPT, a little digital “good job, Richard” blinked back at him.
🏆
The End
The Last Story of the year (2025)
