The city didn't sleep anymore. Not for Amina.
Everywhere she turned—markets, bus stops, even the narrow alleys near her apartment —faces followed her, phone raised, whispers buzzing like flies.
"That's her."
"The diner girl."
"She almost got eliminated, but she pulled through."
At first, the attention left her dizzy, like walking in a dream. But dreams soured quickly. Strangers dug deeper. They wanted her secrets. Her scars.
By the end of the week, a headline hit the airwaves:
"Songbird from the Slums—Family Drama Exposed."
It showed a blurry photo of her father stumbling out of a bar.
Another article claimed her mother was "deadly ill" and accused Amina's of using it as a sympathy card.
Her chest tightened as she read the words. Shame. Anger. Helplessness.
She threw the papers aside. "Why can't they just listen to the music?"
Zainab hugged her from behind.
"Because you scare them, Sister. You're proof someone like us can stand there. That makes people angry."
That night at rehearsal, the other contestants eyed her with suspicion.
Some avoided her, others whispered openly. Vanessa walked past, perfume sharp, voice dripping with venom.
"Enjoy your borrowed spotlight, little stray. Fame is a cage. You'll choke on it soon enough."
Amina clenched her jaw but said nothing.
On stage, Adrian's eyes followed her during sound check. He noticed the strain in her shoulders, the shadows under her eyes. He said nothing —just scribbled something on his notebook.
Later, as she left the building, she found a folded note slipped into her bag. No name, no signature. Just five words in neat handwriting:
"Do not break. Sing louder."
She held the note in trembling fingers, her heart turn between hope and fear.
Maybe someone believed in her after all.