The group discussion hall of Sur Sangram buzzed with a familiar undercurrent of excitement and nerves. Twenty-one contestants, freshly selected and finely dressed, sat in their respective group clusters—chatting, stretching, humming, or scrolling through their phones to calm the jitters. The air was thick with ambition, caffeine, and just a hint of competition.
After last week's scolding for being late, Riva's group had made it a point to be among the first ones in the hall today. Riva, Tara, Mamta, Pratham, and Kabir were all present —seated properly, alert, and ready. Riva sat with her hands clasped on her lap, stealing quiet glances at the judges' table at the front.
All three judges were there.
Rajeev Mishra, the seasoned and calm senior-most judge, occupied the center seat. To his right sat Zayn Malik—the cool pop icon who had already won hearts with his easy smile and charismatic aura. And to the left,
Clad in a crisp dark blue blazer over a white turtleneck, hair tied back in a simple ponytail, Megha looked as poised and powerful as ever.
She looked through her notes with robotic precision, ignoring the hum around her.
But Riva couldn't ignore her.
After their late-night chat, Riva had been a mess of feelings. Embarrassed, unsure, overthinking. She'd meant the thank-you message sincerely… but the way she'd ended that conversation—her last message still haunted her.
I shouldn't have sent that.
Now, she was just watching Megha—studying every movement. Megha looked as professional as ever, but… somehow more distant. Her body language was closed off, posture rigid, her expressions unreadable.
Still, Riva couldn't look away.
Then suddenly, the chatter died down. All three judges stood up. The room fell into silence. Cameras clicked on. Lights focused.
Zayn Malik was the first to speak, flashing his signature grin.
"Congratulations to each one of you for making it to the Top 21! This is huge, y'all!"
The contestants erupted in cheers and claps, some whistling, others beaming ear to ear.
Even Riva clapped along, her smile returning for a moment. Her eyes flickered again to Megha.
Megha stepped forward, her voice calm, poised, and clipped.
"Starting this week, the show officially enters its Grand Premiere stage. From now on, along with judges' opinions, audience voting will be open online. This means your performance isn't just about singing anymore—it's about creating a personality that connects. You're no longer just contestants. You're public figures."
The room fell into a focused hush. Some contestants nodded with resolve, others exchanged anxious glances. In Riva's group, Kabir muttered, "Now we gotta look cool too," and Mamta sighed, "As if singing wasn't pressure enough."
Tara leaned over to Riva and said sassily. "I already have a personality. People will vote for me easily."
Riva smiled weakly. Her mind was still somewhere else.
Rajeev sir took the mic next, his tone even and encouraging.
"But don't worry—this coming week is all about celebration. There will be no elimination. However, the votes you earn this week will count toward the following round. So give it your all."
A wave of relief washed through the room. Laughter, light chuckles, visible tension released. Then came Zayn again, grinning mischievously.
"And here's the best part—we judges will be performing too. For the very first time on this stage!"
The room burst into excitement. Gasps, claps, and murmurs filled the air.
Riva's heart leapt.
Megha is going to perform? Live?
Her face lit up with joy as she clapped excitedly. A genuine, wide smile spread across her face—eyes bright, heart fluttering. For a moment, she let go of her awkwardness and joined the wave of excitement.
And in that exact moment…
Megha looked up.
Their eyes met.
Just for a flicker of a second.
Riva's smile faltered slightly. Megha's gaze softened—her eyes no longer icy, her shoulders relaxing for the briefest moment. It wasn't much. Just a breath of warmth.
But then, just as quickly, Megha looked away, her expression neutral once more.
Riva's heart thudded hard in her chest.
What… was that?
Her logical side told her it was nothing. Just a coincidence. A fleeting look mistaken for something more. Megha was a professional. A celebrity. A judge.
But her heart wasn't listening.
Because somewhere inside, a quieter voice—one that felt dangerous and impossible—was whispering something her mind refused to admit out loud.
What if it's more?
She shook her head lightly, trying to push the thought away. No, no. Don't overthink. Don't build dreams out of glances. It's just a mistaken eye contact. That's all this is.
And Yet...
As the discussion wrapped up, and contestants began rising from their seats, gathering belongings and chatting again, Riva remained frozen in her chair.
Megha stood, gathering her files. She began to leave the hall swiftly, as if eager to disappear before anyone could ask anything further.
Riva stood up suddenly.
"Where are you going?" Tara asked, puzzled.
"I—I'll be right back," Riva mumbled and rushed after Megha.
She caught up to her in the corridor just outside the hall. "Megha ma'am," she called softly.
Megha stopped mid-step, her back to Riva. Then turned slowly. Her face was blank. Cold. Professional.
"Yes?"
Riva swallowed, suddenly very aware of how nervous she felt. "I… I wanted to apologise for last night. For the not so professional message I sent."
There was a pause. A silence that felt like it stretched into forever.
Then Megha raised a brow, her voice cutting and measured.
"Which message?"
Riva's heart sank. Her stomach twisted. "I—I mean… the message I sent after the thank you. About… a duet, and…"
She trailed off. She couldn't bring herself to repeat the words.
Megha's reply came like a sharp breeze.
"Oh. That was you?"
She gave a small shrug.
"I had some free time last night, so I was replying to fan messages. I make it a point to respond fairly to everyone. No one is special. It just felt like the right thing to do."
Riva froze. Her chest tightened. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Before she could say anything else, Megha turned on her heel and walked away, heels clicking softly against the marble.
And Riva stood there, in the corridor, alone.
Her shoulders slumped.
Her heart stung.
Right. Of course. Why would I be special?
Why would someone like her… even look at someone like me that way? Why would she reply to me only?
It was all in my head, wasn't it?
She clenched her fists quietly.
A part of her still wanted to believe in the softness of that fleeting glance.
But maybe… maybe that's all it would ever be.