Riva couldn't stop smiling.
Megha Sinha—the Megha Sinha—had come all the way to talk to her. She had heard the fight with Tara. She had cared. And even though her voice had worn that usual cloak of sternness, Riva had seen something else in her eyes—softness, concern... a tenderness neither of them wanted to name.
But the warmth of that moment faded the instant she stepped back into the contestant hall.
Tara was nowhere in sight.
Mamta gave her a concerned glance from across the room. Pratham was caught up on a call. Kabir offered a small smile, but even he seemed distant—like he wasn't sure where to stand in this invisible rift.
Riva sighed and set her bag on the table.
"Okay, Chandiyal," she whispered to herself. "Focus. No distractions. Time to prove yourself."
She already had a feeling where Tara might be. She walked quietly up the stairs, her steps familiar on the old wooden floorboards that led to the terrace.
And there she was.
Tara stood at the railing, arms crossed, glaring up at the stars as if they'd personally offended her.
Riva couldn't help a small smile.
"Hey…" she called out softly.
Tara didn't turn, but her posture changed. Her shoulders tensed. She had heard her.
Riva bit her lip, stepping closer.
"Tara, I... I know I should've stood by you. But I wasn't defending Megha Sinha. I was just—"
"Just what, Riva?" Tara snapped, finally turning. Her voice was sharp, her eyes sharper. "Smitten? Starstruck? Or just plain stupid?"
Riva flinched.
That stung. But she didn't back away.
"Okay," she said quietly. "I was. I won't lie. But Tara, I've always been like this—messy and emotional and hopeless when it comes to people I admire. And I also know... you didn't mean all those things you said. You're just fed up because of the pairings. Otherwise, you—of all people—you would've never hurt me like that."
Tara's glare faltered, just a little.
"You're the only one who really understands me, Tara. Even though you hate Megha Sinha, you always knew how I felt."
Tara sighed, finally turning fully toward her.
"Don't try to fix everything with sweet words, Riva." Her tone had softened. "The reality is, we're standing against each other. Because of her."
Riva shook her head, stepping closer.
"You're doing it again. Blaming her. But she's not the only one who decided on the pairings. It was a collective decision—judges, producers, format. And you know what? She told me something today…"
Tara raised an eyebrow. "She talked to you?"
"Yes." Riva nodded, a hopeful smile blooming. "She said if both contestants perform really well, it's possible for both of them to be selected. We just have to prove we're good enough."
Tara looked at her, suspicious.
"And you believe that?"
"I do. She told me herself, Tara. Megha Sinha said that." The dreamy smile returned to Riva's face before she could stop it.
Tara stared at her. Then rolled her eyes.
"There's no saving you, is there?" she muttered with a sigh… and a smile.
Then she crossed her arms, flicking her hair over her shoulder with practiced sass.
"I still don't believe her, but I believe you. So, if this is even remotely possible—fine. We'll work hard. No excuses."
Riva beamed.
"Yes! We'll help each other. No matter what."
She stepped forward and wrapped Tara in a tight hug.
"And I'm sorry. For everything. Really."
Tara blinked at the sudden affection, but slowly, she wrapped her arms around Riva too. Then pulled back with dramatic flair.
"Ugh, stop being so melodramatic! You're going to ruin my savage rep."
Riva giggled, wiping a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
Tara groaned,
"Come on. Let's go sleep. We've got rehearsals to slay tomorrow. Ice Queen or not, we're getting through this."
"Together." Riva smiled.
Under the quiet sky, the stars above them twinkled—no longer glared at, but finally forgiven.
---
The second day of rehearsals dawned like any other—bright lights, the distant thump of bass beats, and a dozen voices tuning, warming, repeating.
But for Riva, everything felt just a little bit different.
She and Tara had a purpose now. A shared one. After their talk, the cold wall between them had melted—not completely, but enough to let the music pass through.
They stood side by side, running their duet again and again. Harmonizing. Syncing. Breathing as one.
"Okay, again from the second verse. You're a little flat, Chandiyal," Tara muttered, focused as ever.
"Yeah, yeah. I've got it," Riva replied, adjusting her mic and humming her part softly. Her voice was steady.
Her thoughts… weren't.
Because across the room, like always, Megha Sinha was there—surrounded by her team, sharp in her white shirt and navy-blue pants, clipboard tucked under one arm, pen tapping lightly against it as she discussed something with the sound technician.
She wasn't doing anything special. Just… being Megha Sinha.
And yet Riva found herself glancing over. Again. And again.
It wasn't intentional. Not really. It was just—habit, at this point. Like checking if a star was still in the sky.
But this time, it changed.
Because as Riva's gaze wandered again, mid-note, she found something different.
Megha was already looking.
Their eyes locked.
It lasted only a second. Maybe less.
But it was real. It wasn't accidental. Not this time.
Megha's expression didn't shift—but her fingers stilled. Her lips parted, just a fraction.
And then she turned away. Back to the clipboard. Back to the team. Ice queen once more.
But the moment had happened.
Riva's heart skipped. Then pounded.
She looked down, pretending to fiddle with her mic wire, but her face was already warming, the heat crawling up her neck.
"Focus, Chandiyal," she whispered to herself under her breath. "This is not the time to have a damn heart attack."
Tara didn't notice. She was too busy watching their playback on the monitor.
But Riva knew.
Something had shifted in the air.
She shook her head hard, cleared her throat, and forced herself back into the rhythm.
---
The third day of rehearsals felt a little off.
Megha Sinha wasn't there.
Riva tried not to let it get to her.
She reminded herself—Megha was a celebrity, a co-producer, someone with a packed schedule. The show wasn't her only responsibility. Her absence didn't mean anything.
And yet… no matter how perfect her pitch was, no matter how clean her harmonies landed or how sharp her timing remained, the emptiness lingered.
It sat like a soft ache in her chest.
Still, she didn't let it show.
She trained harder. She rehearsed with Tara again and again. She sang until her throat burned and her feet ached.
Because this show wasn't about feelings.
It was about proving herself.
About getting through.
No distractions.
Not even the ones that made her heart skip.
---
Final Show Day
The atmosphere backstage buzzed with tension and anticipation.
The pairs were seated together—tight grips on water bottles, trembling legs under heavy fabrics, hushed prayers whispered between breaths. Every few minutes, the studio door opened. A pair would step out.
One holding a golden pass.
The other empty-handed, crushed in silence.
Tara and Riva sat beside each other. But unlike many around them, they didn't fidget.
They weren't nervous for their friends. They knew.
Pratham, Kabir, Mamta—these weren't just good singers, they were the best.
And sure enough, their predictions were spot on.
Pratham emerged first, grinning like a schoolboy, his golden pass held high like a trophy.
Mamta and Kabir followed soon after, breathless with relief and pride.
Now, only Tara and Riva were left from their circle.
Tara gave Riva a firm nod.
"No matter what, we kill it. Got it?"
Riva smiled, gripping her hand.
"Together."
They walked toward the stage doors, fingers still laced.