The preparations for the Grand Premiere had begun in full swing. The entire rehearsal studio had been transformed into a dazzling, full-scale set that screamed glam and grandeur. At the center stood a magnificent stage, now glittering under professional lighting rigs, with the sleek judges' table set right in front. Three luxurious sofas were arranged beside it—clearly marked for the celebrity judges—and the production crew buzzed around like bees in a hive.
To the right of the stage, stair-style seating had been installed for the Top 21 contestants, giving everyone a clear view of the performances. On the left was the newly introduced live band—not the small crew from auditions, but a massive, professional ensemble with a dedicated team, full drum kits, electric guitars, backup vocalists, and camera crews following every chord change. It was no longer just a competition. It was a show.
The contestants had been given new, upgraded rooms too. No more shared dorms or cramped hostel-like spaces. Each spacious room now housed just two contestants. Well—except one. The trio of Riva, Tara, and Mamta had somehow managed to stay in the same room, and none of them seemed to mind. The vibe was more relaxed now. The production team and managers were surprisingly kind and helpful, treating them all like budding celebrities.
To make it all more surreal, the entire Top 21 had been taken out for a fancy celebrity-style dinner that evening—no judges, just the contestants, music, laughter, and way too many dessert options.
Like many others, Riva found herself completely mesmerized by the grandeur of it all. This was beyond anything she had imagined. The lights, the cameras, the attention—it was everything she'd dreamed of.
Even though her last interaction with Megha still lingered like a small bruise on her ego, Riva didn't let it steal her moment. She reminded herself why she came to Mumbai in the first place—not for confusion or heartbreak, but for music, for the stage, and herself.
This—this—was her time.
Monday, the first day after the big announcement, passed in celebration, just like the production team had planned. But by Tuesday, the real work began. With the Grand Premiere scheduled to shoot on Thursday and the show airing over the weekend, there were only two full days left to rehearse.
Tuesday was mostly individual practice—no judges, just the contestants working on their songs, lyrics, and vocal notes.
Wednesday brought the live band and the judges back into the picture. Contestants were sent down in groups of three for rehearsals.
Kabir, Tara, and Riva had been paired together for the rehearsal. Kabir, poor guy, already looked like he was walking into battle, not band practice. Tara, naturally, had been teasing him since they left the room. Not outright saying "I know you have a crush on me," but dropping enough hints to turn him into a human tomato. Riva, walking beside them, couldn't stop giggling, which only added fuel to Tara's very public mischief.
It was their usual chaos. Easy, harmless, and stupidly fun.
But the moment they entered the hall, her laughter faltered. Her eyes, as if pulled by instinct, found Megha across the room. Sitting near the judges' table, Megha looked up right at her. Their eyes met for just a second, briefly, but enough. Riva quickly looked away.
She wasn't here for that. Not for some not-so-special looks that only led to foolish thoughts.
Kabir's name was called first, and he hurried toward the stage like it was a rescue mission. Riva, trying to snap herself out of the moment, turned to Tara.
"Why are you like this?" she asked, half-laughing. "You know he likes you. Why are you always frying his brain?"
Tara shrugged, all innocence. "I just enjoy watching men crumble. It's my hobby."
Riva snorted. "You're a menace."
Then, lowering her voice: "Okay, but seriously—do you like him?"
Tara made a face like someone had asked her if she wanted to date a Snale.
"Ew. No. He's sweet. But no."
"You're evil." Riva grinned. "So what is your type?"
Tara's eyes lit up. She turned slowly toward Riva with a mischievous smile.
"You."
Riva blinked. "What?"
Tara inched closer, dropping her voice into fake seduction mode. "You. You're my type. Look at me—gorgeous, hilarious, available." She dramatically flicked her hair and struck a ridiculous pose. "Why would you reject this perfection?"
Riva laughed, pushing her away. "Get lost. I'm not interested."
"Ouch. Brutal." Tara put a hand to her heart, pretending to be offended. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Why would you be interested in a hot woman offering herself on a golden platter when you can sit and fawn over fantasy crushes who don't even remember you messaged them?"
That hit too close.
Riva's smile dimmed. "Tara…" she started to defend, but Tara cut her off, voice firm now.
"Don't defend her. Not after you came back almost crying that day. Have some self-respect, Riva."
Riva didn't reply. Instead, as if her self-respect was something she was actively trying to kill, her gaze once again drifted toward the judges' table.
Rajeev Sir was speaking to Kabir, and Zyan was nodding along, adjusting his mic.
And Megha?
She was staring at her phone like it had personally offended her. The screen was on, but nothing moved—her thumb hovered mid-air, frozen. Her posture was rigid, leg crossed, one foot tapping faintly against the floor.
Then, as if pulled by something, Megha looked up.
Her eyes met Riva's.
And stayed.
There was no smile. No tilt of the head. No warmth. Just a straight, deliberate stare that said everything and nothing at once.
Then her gaze shifted. Slightly to the left.
To Tara.
Both girls caught it.
Riva felt it instantly—an odd, focused intensity in Megha's eyes that made her spine buzz.
Tara let out a dry, venom-laced scoff.
"God," she muttered under her breath, but loud enough to cut through Riva's thoughts, "why is she staring like she wants to tear our limbs apart? Psycho."
Riva blinked, startled. "Shhh—Tara—"
But when she looked back up, Megha had already looked away—expression unchanged—as she leaned toward Kabir, offering him a smile and saying something Riva couldn't hear.
A perfectly normal, perfectly casual smile.
It didn't feel normal.
And suddenly, everything about the moment—the tension, the stare, the silence before it—sat heavy on Riva's chest.
She told herself not to overthink it. Not again.
But the thought slipped in anyway.
Was that… jealousy or what?
And if it was—why?
Ah, this woman. This is getting way too complicated.