Chapter 2 - Between Shadows, Caramel, and Code: An Unexpected Pair: The Flickering Bulb and the Lost Invitation

The hallway light flickered with its usual irregular rhythm, casting dancing shadows across the apartment walls. The sweet scent of pudding still lingered in the air, blending with the bitter aroma of coffee. Sitting at the table, I stared at the open Visual Studio Code on my laptop, trying to ignore the mess around me—piles of books, old manuals, and a jumble of things I’d meant to organize for months.

I took a deep breath and clicked on the extensions icon in the VSCode sidebar. In the search bar, I typed “Amazon Q”. The result appeared quickly:

“Amazon Q is your AI-powered assistant for the entire software development lifecycle.”

I stared at the description for a moment. I’d grown used to hearing about Amazon Q Developer, but the truth was, I’d never bothered to look into it. It felt like one of those things you put off for no reason, like replacing that damned flickering light.

I clicked Install. The process was quick—too quick to allow me any second thoughts. When the installation finished, a new icon appeared in the sidebar. Subtle, yet inviting. I clicked it, and the configuration screen appeared, simple and straightforward:

• Use for free – the obvious choice for someone like me, caught between nostalgia and pragmatism.
• Use with a Pro license

I chose the free option. The browser opened automatically, redirecting me to create an AWS Builder ID. The process was straightforward: enter an email, provide a name, verify a code, and set a password.

An AWS Builder ID, as I understood it, was like a personal passport. It gave access to AWS tools and services, like Amazon Q Developer, as well as free courses and learning paths. It seemed practical, maybe even perfect for someone like me, rediscovering certain things. “Interesting”, I muttered, clicking the button to create my AWS Builder ID.

With the login complete, I returned to VSCode. Amazon Q Developer was there, waiting patiently. When the interface finally appeared, a simple message stood out in the center of the screen:

“Hi, I’m Amazon Q. I can answer your software development questions.
Ask me to explain, debug, or optimize your code.
You can enter / to see a list of quick actions. Add @workspace to the beginning of your message to include your entire workspace as context.”

No big promises, no frills. Just functionality. That was it. Maybe it was exactly what I needed.

I felt something crumpled underfoot. Bending down, I picked up a forgotten piece of paper—a folded, nearly illegible invitation to the “Innovation Congress – AI, Software Development, and the Future of Coding”. The words still carried weight. I immediately remembered why it had ended up discarded on the floor.

Camila. Her name echoed in my mind, bringing images of her smile—that confident smile that made the future seem simple, like a recipe in the hands of a master chef. I remembered our quick conversations during breaks at one event or another, always filled with clarity and precision, as if she already knew the exact steps to success. Camila was brilliant, a developer with the rare ability to see the big picture without missing the details—like someone mastering every stage of a perfect creation. “You should go”, she had said about the congress, with the same certainty of someone who knows exactly when caramel reaches its peak. It had been an invitation I’d let slip away.

I held the invitation in my hand, glancing at Amazon Q Developer on the screen. The light flickered once more, and for a moment, shadows and light divided the space around me, reflecting the dilemma within. Maybe it was too late for the congress, but it wasn’t too late to start something new.

I turned back to the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before typing anything, I reached for the plate of pudding on the counter. The caramel gleamed under the flickering light, and for a moment, everything felt a bit simpler. I took a bite, letting the bittersweet taste settle the thoughts still swirling in my mind. Then, I stood up. I grabbed a new lightbulb from the cabinet—something I’d bought weeks ago but kept putting off using. I replaced the bulb in silence, watching as the now steady light filled the hallway.

As I returned to the table, the steady glow illuminated the space in a way I hadn’t seen in ages. Maybe this was it: starting with small fixes—the bulb, the pudding, the right tools. Then, the bigger repairs. After all, every process has to start somewhere, even if it’s with a spoonful of caramel.

***The cover image for this post was generated on PartyRock, using the Amazon Nova Canvas model.

Chapter 1 - Vector, Theodoro, and the Call of the Pudding
Chapter 2 - The Flickering Bulb and the Lost Invitation