The next morning, Amina hurried through the market on her way to work. Head tired as she passed, whispers following her steps.
"That's the girl who sang last night."
"Wait—wasn't she the same girl from the diner video?"
Her chest tightened. 'What diner video?
When she arrived at the diner, the answer hit her like a wave. A group of teenagers huddled over their phones at the table, replaying a clip: 'her', humming softly as she wiped down plates. Her voice, raw and fragile, pouring through a stranger's shaky camera lens.
The caption read:
"The voice of the streets —Meet the unknown Contestant."
By the end of her shift, the clip had thousands of shares. Some comments praised her, others mocked her appearance, her clothes, her background.
"She sounds real. Not fair like the others."
"Beautiful voice, but she looks too ordinary for stardom."
"Diner girl thinks she can be a star? Hilarious."
Her manager frowned at the swarm of people snapping photos outside.
"You're a distraction now. Don't come back tomorrow until this dies down."
Humiliation burned her cheeks, but worse was at the dread of home empty-handed.
She slipped out the back door, pulling her hood low. But even in the alley, reporters' voices called out.
"Are you really from the slums?"
"Is it true your father's an alcoholic?"
"Do you think you deserve to compete against real stars?"
Their words were like knives. She fled before tears could spill.
That night, Amina sat at her mother's bedside, shaking. "Mama, maybe I should stop. This is too much. They'll tear me apart."
Her mother touched her hand, weak but steady. "The world will always talk, Amina. Let them. What matters is your voice —and what you do with it.
Across the city, In a sleek office tower, Adrian Cole watched the same video on his phone. The girl in the din diner, singing as though no one listened. His expression remained unreadable, but his hand stilled on the desk.
"She won't last in this storm." his assistant muttered.
Adrian's eyes lingered on the screen.
'Or she might surprise us all.'