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I was sitting on the steps of Duke Chapel at 2 a.m. in December 2023, the Gothic towers looming above me, a 210-foot reminder of everything I was about to walk away from. My phone was exploding with notifications: Y Combinator had just accepted us. ChatGPT had hit 100 million users in two months—faster than TikTok, faster than Instagram, faster than anything in human history.
And I was about to break my single mother’s heart.
The chapel bells rang twice, echoing across the empty quad. In six hours, I’d be dropping out of one of America’s best universities. The same university my mother had sacrificed everything to get me into. The same university whose acceptance letter made her cry tears of joy in our cramped apartment kitchen in Dhaka, Bangladesh, a place most Duke students couldn’t find on a map, where American university acceptance letters arrive like answered prayers, meant to lift entire families. The only thing harder than getting into Duke from there was explaining why I was leaving.
Now I’d make her cry again.
I threw up twice before leaving Duke that morning, once in the dorm bathroom, once behind the student center. Not from the previous night’s parties; I’d stopped going to those months earlier while my hallmates were doing keg stands. I was too busy watching the world change at warp speed. While my classmates wrote papers about AI’s potential, we were teaching it to think in practice. While they debugged thesis statements, we debugged systems that would touch millions. They worried about grades. We worried about scale.
The decision wasn’t romantic. It was terrifying. But sitting on those chapel steps, watching my classmates live their normal college lives while history was being written in real time 3,000 miles away, I knew.
