The most awaited day had finally arrived—the shooting of the first proper episode of Sur Sangram with the Top 21 contestants.
The stage glittered under the lights, and all the contestants were already seated on the plush sofas near the set, dressed in their finest. The production team had gone all out—styling, makeup, wardrobe—everything was done to perfection. The boys looked sharp in their suit-pants, each of them dashing in their own way. The girls, on the other hand, were nothing short of stunning.
Riva was dressed in a gorgeous golden skirt with a matching blouse, her hair left open but carefully styled. She looked radiant, a quiet kind of beautiful. Beside her, Mamta glowed in a deep red anarkali suit, regal and graceful. And ever-charming Tara sat confidently in a white off-shoulder dress, effortlessly glamorous.
The three of them were chatting and laughing, a little bubble of warmth before the cameras rolled. But there was something different about Riva today. She seemed lighter—brighter. After all, last night's quiet moment with Megha Sinha had left a strange warmth blooming in her chest.
"I don't like seeing you struggle."
Those words had been on loop in her mind since. Along with something else—Megha's question about Tara. Was she... jealous? The memory alone made Riva giggle without realizing it.
Tara immediately shot her a look. The same suspicious look she'd been giving her since last night.
"Don't tell me you just remembered the calves back in your mountain home or something. Just tell me the truth, Riva," Tara said, arching a brow.
"Yeah, why are you so chirpy since last night?" Mamta added, clearly intrigued.
Riva usually told her friends everything. But whatever was going on between her and Megha was… complicated. Even she wasn't sure what it was. How was she supposed to explain it?
So she smiled and lied. "Nothing. I guess it's all just hitting me now—this whole dreamlike setup, the stage, the lights… And honestly, look at us—we look amazing. That's all."
Mamta gave an approving nod, satisfied with the answer.
Tara, however, wasn't buying it.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough that only Riva could hear.
"I know this is about your Miss Fantasy Crush. Whatever this is… just don't come crying to me later."
Riva's cheeks turned warm. She looked away, blushing, caught completely off guard.
Mamta, watching them both, raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not your sister anymore. It's like Tara is— you tell her everything."
"That's because I'm not her sister," Tara replied breezily. "And the things we talk about are… well, too serious for you."
Riva shot Tara a curious glance, unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes. But she said nothing, the flutter in her chest refusing to die down.
Before the teasing could go further, the studio lights brightened, and the host, Ayan Malhotra, stepped onto the stage with his signature smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand first episode of Sur Sangram!"
The lights flared brighter, the music kicked in, and the entire set came alive with energy. The attention of all 21 contestants shifted instantly toward the stage. A buzz of excitement filled the air—electric, contagious, unstoppable.
"India's biggest musical journey begins tonight!" the host, Ayan Malhotra, declared with infectious enthusiasm. "We have here the Top 21 most talented voices from across the country, and over the next 15 weeks, one of them will rise to become India's favorite singer. That name will be written in golden ink in the history of Indian music!"
A loud cheer erupted from the contestants. Some clapped, some whooped, and some—like Riva—felt their heart race with nerves and dreams tangled together.
Ayan grinned. "But before our talented Top 21 showcase their magical voices—and you, the audience, start voting for your favorite—it's time to welcome the people who will guide them, mentor them, and judge them... Please give a big hand to our three incredible judges!"
The lights shifted toward the entrance tunnel.
"First up, the golden voice of the 90s, a multiple national award winner, and the man whose songs are etched into every Indian heart—Rajeev Mishra!"
Rajeev Mishra walked onto the stage with quiet dignity, dressed in a simple black pant and coat. As always, he looked elegant and grounded, his calm smile met with respectful cheers from the contestants and audience alike.
"Next up, the coolest pop icon of our generation—famous for fusing Indian soul with international sound—the one and only Zyan Malik!"
Zayan entered with his signature swagger, wearing a stylish printed jacket and baggy jeans. The crowd went wild—especially the younger contestants. Riva clapped along, grinning, but she could feel her heartbeat rising.
Because she knew who was coming next.
And she desperately wanted to see her.
The host's voice slowed just a bit. "And now, please welcome our third judge… the heartthrob of a million fans, the trendsetter, the voice that defines today's generation, and the style icon who's redefining Indian music—Megha Sinha!"
The moment felt like it stretched in slow motion.
Megha walked out onto the stage, dressed in a breathtaking blue saree with a black starry blouse. Her hair was left loose in soft waves, no elaborate styling—just simple, effortless beauty.
She looked... ethereal.
Riva's eyes widened, her lips parted ever so slightly, staring completely mesmerized. For a moment, Riva didn't even hear the applause around her. All she could focus on was the soft sway of that saree and the calm confidence in Megha's walk.
She didn't realize she was gaping—until Tara elbowed her in the side.
"Pick your jaw up from the floor, girl," Tara whispered.
Riva blinked, blushed, and quickly sat up straighter, trying to act normal—but her flushed cheeks betrayed her.
The judges had finally settled into their seats—Rajeev Mishra on the left, Zayan Malik in the center, and Megha Sinha on the right. The camera crew adjusted angles, the lights dimmed slightly, and murmurs filled the studio as the next segment was being prepped.
And in the middle of that quiet buzz, it happened.
Megha's eyes met Riva's.
For a moment, Riva froze.
She hadn't expected it. Their eyes locking across the room felt like something straight out of her own dreams—but it was real. And just when she thought she might be imagining it, Megha smiled. A soft, barely-there smile. Her gaze lingered… just a beat longer than necessary. It was enough to send a shiver down Riva's spine.
Riva's heart skipped. There was a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to speak to her. To say something. Anything. Like how beautiful she looked tonight—how divine that blue saree looked against the glow of the set lights.
But how? The judges were about to perform in the next twenty minutes. The crew was moving around, contestants were getting briefed again, and chatter was picking up all around them.
That's when it clicked.
Everyone had pulled out their phones to make a quick call or snap pictures during the short break. Riva, almost on instinct, reached for hers too.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Should she?
Her thumb paused over the Instagram app.
For a second, doubt crept in—Is this stupid? Is this too much? But between her and Megha, Riva had always been the braver one—at least, she liked to believe that. She had to say something. And this was the only way.
Taking a deep breath, she opened Megha Sinha's profile and clicked 'Message'.
Then, carefully, deliberately, she typed:
"I know this may look creepy messaging you like this while we're in the same room… but I had no other option. And I know a lot of people must have already told you this, but you are truly breathtaking tonight. I can't wait to hear you sing."
She stared at it for a second.
And then hit send.
The moment it was delivered, she looked up instinctively at the judges' table—at her.
Megha was speaking to a spot girl beside her. Then, suddenly, her phone screen lit up on the desk. Riva's pulse jumped.
That had to be her message.
Megha glanced at the screen. Her brows furrowed slightly at first, confused. Then… she stared at it. Her gaze didn't shift, her fingers still. Slowly, Megha looked up again—and straight at Riva.
Riva's breath caught in her throat.
They held eye contact. Neither of them looked away this time.
Then Megha's expression softened, her lips curling into a subtle smile, one eyebrow lifting in playful amusement. She typed something and, as casually as if nothing had happened, placed the phone down and pretended to return to a conversation.
Riva's phone buzzed.
Her hands trembled slightly as she unlocked it.
"Thank you for the compliment. You yourself… not looking bad."
Riva's face lit up with surprise—and something warmer.
Before she could react, another message appeared.
"And I don't find it creepy. It's kinda… cute."
Her heart swelled. Her chest was tight with a strange, bubbling kind of joy.
She looked up again.
Megha wasn't smiling this time, but her eyes—those intense, unreadable eyes—were fixed on her once more.
And somehow, Riva felt like something had just shifted between them. Something silent, something electric, something that left her breathless.
Her heart thundered in her chest.
She didn't know what was happening.
But it was happening