Instagram — @riva_chandiyal sent you a message.
Megha stared at the unopened notification, her heart thudding faster.
It wasn't the first time a contestant or a fan had messaged her — she received hundreds, thousands even, every single day. And yet... this was different.
This tiny blinking notification was doing something no message had ever done before: it was making her nervous. Ridiculously nervous.
She let out a slow breath, leaning back against the cushioned booth seat, rubbing her temples in frustration.
"She's just a contestant," Megha reminded herself. "It's probably a normal thank you message. Nothing more."
Taking a deep breath, Megha tapped the screen and opened the message.
"Hi Megha ma'am, "I just really wanted to thank you for supporting both me and Tara during the battle round... it truly meant a lot to me.I adore you so much. Looking forward to learning from you in this journey of Sur Sangram 😊"
Megha's lips twitched into a small smile as she read the message.
She leaned back in her chair, tapping the phone lightly against her palm, trying to suppress the soft warmth spreading in her chest.
It was just a simple message — sweet, polite, like so many she received every day.
But something about it lingered.
Quickly, she wiped the smile off her face, aware of how it had crept up on her.
Her fingers hesitated before she set the phone down on the table, the screen still open with the message staring back at her.
For a moment, she just sat there, her gaze fixed on the words, unsure of what to make of the unexpected feeling that had risen inside her.
But then, an unexpected urge tugged at Megha's chest — the desire to reply.
She stared at the phone, frowning. It's just a message, she reminded herself. A polite one, like so many others. There's no reason to overthink this.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling. She had ignored thousands of messages before, so why was this one different?
Fifteen minutes passed. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain. Too formal? Too casual? What's the right tone?
After another five minutes of hesitation, Megha finally typed a response. She read it over, then hesitated again, unsure if she should send it.
Eventually, she pressed Send, setting the phone down, the weight of the decision lingering. Why did I make that so complicated?
Then she quickly locked her phone and placed it on the table, trying to act casual about it. She picked up her wine glass and pretended to focus on the crowd outside the booth. But her thoughts kept drifting back to her phone, secretly hoping for a reply. She glanced at it once, then quickly looked away, trying to ignore the little nagging feeling in her chest.
On the other side of the city, Riva was battling the same nagging feeling. For the past 30 minutes, she kept telling herself, Why would Megha reply? But despite her logic, sleep eluded her. She kept glancing at her phone, still locked, sitting innocently on the table beside her. Every time her eyes moved toward it, her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, trying to convince herself it wasn't a big deal.
Then her phone buzzed, and Riva's heart leapt. In a flash, she grabbed it, her eyes scanning the notification. Megha had replied. A wave of happiness spread through her, and she couldn't help but smile, her whole face lighting up.
"You had already thanked me in the morning. But still, it's not because of me — you and the other girl are both talented. Just... keep doing what you're doing. It's good to see someone like you here."
Riva's eyes widened as she read Megha's message. The words spun around in her mind like a melody she didn't want to forget.
Biting her lip to contain the stupidly wide grin, Riva quickly typed back:
"Still means a lot, ma'am. I'll keep working hard. Hope someday you'll be proud of me."
And before she could stop herself — almost on instinct — she sent another message:
"Also, your journey inspires so many of us. We learn just by watching you on stage."
She stared at her phone for half a second, then groaned softly, flopping back against the bed.
"Why did I send two messages?!"
But the small nervousness was overpowered by the hope blooming quietly inside her.
On Megha's side, her wine glass sat untouched. The crowd outside the booth danced and laughed, but she barely heard it. Her phone was right there, in her line of sight. She told herself not to care. Still, when it buzzed again, her hand reached out without hesitation.
She read the messages, a small, involuntary smile brushing her lips. Megha typed back after a pause.
"Why would she reply again?" Riva told herself, but her heart wouldn't listen.
The moment her phone buzzed, she shot up, grabbing it like it was oxygen.
Seeing Megha's name, she smiled so hard it hurt.
Megha: You're already doing well. No one needs to be proud of you except yourself.
After getting Megha's second reply, Riva grinned wide, cheeks almost hurting. She sat cross-legged on her bed, the room dark except for the soft glow of her phone screen. Feeling a little braver now, she quickly typed and sent a message —
"I really can't believe I'm talking to you, ma'am! 😭❤️"
A small pause — then another —
"You are my inspiration every day!! 🌟"
And then another —
"One day, I hope I can sing a duet with you."
Halfway through typing her next excited message, Riva suddenly froze, staring at the screen, a tiny panic setting in if she was being too much.
On the other end, Megha read the messages with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Her lips curled into a small smile. She couldn't help but find Riva's enthusiasm a bit infectious, but she quickly shook her head, trying to maintain her professionalism.
She typed back:
"Focus on the competition first. A duet comes much later. Also, Only Popular and special singers of India get a chance to sing with me. You have to work hard."
The second Riva read it, her smile faltered a little. Somewhere inside, it stung — just a little. Before she could stop herself, her fingers typed on their own, fast and impulsive:
"Maybe I'm not that popular yet, but I think I'm already a little special... You did come to console me that day when I was sad."
The moment she pressed send, regret crashed over her.Her eyes widened in horror. Why would you write that, Riva?She quickly started typing another message, desperate to fix it:
"Sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean it like that!"
She sent it before overthinking more.
On the other side of the city, inside the dimly lit club booth, Megha's phone vibrated.She casually picked it up, expecting another silly joke —But the message she read wasn't silly. At least not for her.
For a moment, Megha simply stared at the message, her chest tightening strangely.
It was like someone had quietly held up a mirror to her...And Megha wasn't ready for it.
Without replying to the apology, Megha set the phone down for a moment, exhaling slowly. The warmth she had allowed herself to feel earlier drained out, replaced by a strange tightness she couldn't name.
After a minute, she picked up the phone again and typed curtly:
"Enough now. I have to sleep. You should, too. Good Night"
Riva winced seeing the reply. Her chest squeezed awkwardly, a mixture of embarrassment and sadness blooming. Still, she swallowed it down and quickly typed:
"Good night, ma'am."
Riva stared at the screen for a while, biting her lip, feeling a little stupid.Maybe she got too comfortable. Maybe she messed it up.
Still, despite everything, a tired, contented smile spread across her face.Today was still the best day —Top 21 selection and even a real conversation with her celebrity crush.No regrets.
She hugged her phone close and curled into bed, sleep tugging at her eyes.
Meanwhile, back in the club, Megha clenched her jaw, staring at the screen. She wanted to be angry at Riva… but found herself more angry at herself.Because somewhere, deep down, she knew Riva was right.
Closing her eyes, Megha took a slow, steady breath, trying to clear the storm in her head.Without letting herself think any further, she opened the chat —and in one sharp, final swipe, deleted the entire conversation.
Phone locked, she slid it into her jacket pocket, stood up from the booth, and stepped out into the cold night air.
The night ended with two girls in the same city —One sleeping with a soft smile on her face.The other was walking away, carrying a heart she refused to acknowledge.