"Riva Chan… Chand… Forget it. Contestant number 24687?"
The coordinator looked confused and gave up on her name.
Riva rolled her eyes and walked ahead, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. She was fair, with soft features, sharp eyes, and long black hair falling neatly on one side. Dressed in a white kurti and jeans, she looked simple but confident.
"It's Riva Chandiyal," she corrected, putting extra stress on the surname.
She mumbled to herself, "Why can't people say it right? It's not that hard."
"Alright, Miss Chandiyal. You're up in ten minutes. Be ready," the coordinator informed and walked away.
Riva turned back and sat on the bench. A few minutes ago, she was happily talking to other contestants—laughing about how bal mithai is the best sweet in the world, and how from her rooftop, she could see hills that changed colours with the sky.
But now… her smile faded a bit.
She looked around. So many singers. So much talent. The chatter of people warming up, someone tuning a guitar, the soft hum of rehearsals—it all hit her. For the first time, Riva felt nervous.
"Okay, Riva. Breathe. You've done this before. You can do this again," she whispered to herself.
She was right. Back in Uttarakhand, she was a star. Her regional songs had millions of views. Her voice had touched hearts.
But this wasn't Dehradun. This was Mumbai.
And this wasn't just another show. This was Sur Sangram—the biggest music competition on national television.
This stage could change her life.
"Miss Chandiyal… please enter the studio."
The coordinator's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
She stood up, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, and softly said, "Golu Devta ki jai."
Then, with a deep breath and a tiny prayer in her heart, she stepped through the door.
---
The studio was bigger than anything she had imagined.
Bright stage lights. A shiny wooden floor. The band sat to her right, ready with instruments. Directly ahead, the audience area was quiet for now. And in front of it—three chairs. Three judges. Three pairs of eyes watching her.
Riva walked up to the marked spot on the stage, her posture straight. She held her head high.
But her breath got heavier with each step.
As her eyes moved to the panel, her gaze locked on the one person who stood out—the youngest and only female judge on the panel.
Megha Sinha.
Her name echoed in Riva's chest.
Megha was dressed in a maroon body-hugging dress that stopped at her knees. Her long wavy hair was pinned loosely, one strand brushing her cheek. Her high heels clicked softly as she shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. Her makeup was subtle, highlighting her striking eyes.
She had started her career at sixteen with just one music video and never looked back. Now, at twenty-four, she was the voice behind multiple hits, brand endorsements, live concerts, and music videos. Beautiful, bold, and brilliant—she was the dream every young singer admired.
Including Riva.
And now… she was sitting there. Looking right at her.
Riva stopped breathing for a second.
She wasn't blinking.
Megha raised an eyebrow slightly, noticing the stare. She gave a small, knowing smile—the kind that said, I've seen this before.
But something was different. She tilted her head.
Maybe it was the fact that this time, it wasn't a male fan staring.
This… was new.
They kept staring.
Silent.
Unmoving.