Since the club incident, when Megha had helped Riva in her drunken state, she found herself unable to stop thinking about the girl—how carefree she was, and how, even in that hazy condition, she had flirted with her without a second thought. Megha tried to dismiss the memory, but it replayed in her mind over and over, like an uninvited guest. And, despite her best efforts to remain unaffected, a small, begrudging smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
She scolded herself, reminding her that work should be her focus. It had always been her focus. But no matter how hard she tried to push through, the thoughts kept sneaking back in, relentless and stubborn, like an old song stuck on repeat. It was irritating, to say the least.
And then, in a moment of weakness, she found herself searching for Riva Chandiyal online. "For the show," she justified to herself. (Let's be clear, she didn't check up on any other contestant. Just Riva. Purely professional, of course.)
The girl was already regionally famous. The songs were in languages Megha couldn't understand, but that didn't stop her from listening to them all, each one adding another layer to the curiosity that was slowly taking root. Riva was the youngest of three daughters, but it seemed she was closer to her cousin, Mamta Chandiyal, perhaps because of their shared passion for music.
Megha didn't want to admit it, but with each passing minute, she found herself... impressed.
Later, on the day of the group discussion, Megha arrived quite early—typical of her. As contestants slowly trickled into the hall, she found herself scanning each group as they entered, eyes almost unconsciously searching for a certain someone. Not that she'd admit it, of course.
But Riva didn't show up—not until ten full minutes past the actual meeting time. Megha's brows had already begun knitting in disapproval. She hated unpunctuality. Truly, deeply, passionately hated it.
She didn't hold back either—scolding the group firmly, voice sharp and commanding. Honestly, she had planned to go on for longer, maybe add a line or two about professionalism. But then Mamta apologized, followed by Riva, looking uncharacteristically soft and sincere. And just like that, Megha's fire dimmed. She couldn't bring herself to say more.
The next round was the duet battle for the Top 20, and Megha already knew the drill. She had been part of the group handling the pairings, helping to sort them out with a calm, strategic head.
So when the show makers and co-producer casually suggested pairing Mamta and Riva against each other for maximum drama and TRP, Megha's expression had hardened. She refused—flatly. Because she knew exactly what kind of dilemma it would create for both girls.
Sure, the show thrived on these emotional traps. She had been producing and judging it for three years now, and never once had she interfered in the way contestants were pitted against each other. Emotional tension made good TV, after all. But this time? This time, she pushed back. Made up some half-valid points, threw in words like "artistic compatibility" and "vocal synergy" to sound convincing.
To her surprise, they let it go. Instead, they decided to put Riva with Tara. That, apparently, was still dramatic enough. Megha didn't love it, but she knew she couldn't push her luck further. So she let it be.
It was supposed to be a day off for the judges, but Megha had to come in anyway—some production decisions, some paperwork. Nothing exciting.
She sat with a few others in the corner of the hall, quietly working and discussing details.
And then, she noticed it—the stare. Riva's gaze on her. Megha never looked back, never acknowledged it, but she could feel it. And if she were being honest… she didn't mind.
It wasn't new for her to be looked at like that. Plenty of fans had stared at her like she was a goddess. Some had done borderline crazy things just to get her attention. But this—this was different.
There was something about Riva. It didn't feel like she was looking at a celebrity. It felt like she was seeing Megha as a person. And the best part? She was always respectful.
Other contestants, also fans, often took every chance to talk to her. Not that Megha hated it—but it did get a little tiring. Riva wasn't like them.
Megha was busy going through papers when she heard Tara's voice—loud and bitter, throwing curses her way. It wasn't the first time. Megha had learned to ignore her.
But then, Riva spoke. She took a stand. Defended her. Megha heard every word—especially Tara's dramatic line about "choosing a fantasy crush over real friends." Megha didn't react, of course. She never did.
Now, the hall was almost empty. It was time to close, but Riva was still sitting alone.
And Megha… well, Megha stayed too. She told her team she had more work to finish. Truth was, she wasn't doing much—just watching the girl who, for once, wasn't looking at her.
Maybe Riva didn't even know she was there.
Megha sat for several minutes, hoping the girl would leave on her own. But she didn't.
She tried to fight it—tried to remind herself it wasn't her problem. She'd had the same fight with herself back in the club bathroom too. She'd lost then.
And now, she was losing again.
But Riva wasn't drunk this time.
Taking a breath, Megha stood up and walked toward her—each step feeling strange. She'd sung in front of thousands and never felt this nervous.
Standing behind her, she cleared her throat softly and tried to sound composed.
In a quiet voice, she asked, "Everything is fine?"
Riva looked up so fast, Megha almost took a step back. Those wide, startled eyes locked onto hers in pure shock.
Megha blinked, clearly catching Riva off guard. She coughed softly, a little awkwardly, which seemed to bring Riva back to earth.
Riva quickly stood up, flustered. "G-Good evening, ma'am. Uh—yes, everything's fine. What are you doing here?" Her eyes dropped to the floor, avoiding Megha's gaze.
Megha couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. Was this the same girl who shamelessly flirted with her while drunk, calling her "gorgeous" like it was the most normal thing to say? The contrast made her want to chuckle.
But she quickly composed herself, clearing her throat and putting on a more serious tone.
"It's getting late. The studio needs to close. Why are you still here like this?"
"Sorry, I… I just lost track of time. I was thinking about stuff. I should go." Riva grabbed her bag in a hurry and started walking past Megha, clearly hoping to escape the moment.
On any normal day, Riva might've loved the chance to talk to Megha. But today… after the fight with Tara, something felt heavy. She couldn't handle Megha's presence—not with her thoughts all over the place.
"Wait." Megha's voice came quickly before Riva could slip away.
Riva stopped. Slowly, she turned around.
"Yes, ma'am?" she asked softly.
Megha let out a quiet sigh, walking a few steps closer.
"I heard you and your friend fought today. Because of me."
Riva looked down, guilt flickering across her face. She hadn't expected Megha to bring it up so directly. Her words were stuck in her throat.
Megha continued, her voice low, almost gentle. "It's not new—people saying things about me. But for you… I don't think it's worth fighting your friends over a celebrity." She paused. "Your friend might be right. You should focus more on real friends than a fantasy crush."
Riva's cheeks turned pink. Embarrassed, she fiddled with the strap of her bag.
Megha saw it, and despite herself, she smiled again. A soft, amused smile.
"It's not like that, ma'am," Riva said quickly, flustered.
Megha tilted her head with a slight smirk. Her voice turned playful. "Not like what? That your friend doesn't hate me… or that you don't have a hopeless little crush on me?"
Riva's face was fully crimson now. She looked ready to melt into the floor. Megha chuckled quietly—sweet revenge for that bathroom incident.
"N-No—I mean… yes—maybe. Tara doesn't like you much, okay, but she's not usually so blunt. It's just… ever since the duet pairings were announced, she's been tense. And when she found out you helped sort them, she got even more upset."
Megha's playful smirk slowly faded as she took in Riva's words. Her tone turned more serious, voice steady but not unkind.
"Yes, your friend is partially right," she said, arms crossing gently in front of her. "But let me make one thing clear—I wasn't the only one who decided on the pairings. It was a collective decision. All co-producers agreed."
Riva nodded, biting her lip. "I understand, ma'am," she said politely… then hesitated, her voice dipping just a little softer, "But… is there any way… the pairings can be rearranged?"
There was a small pause. Megha's expression turned firmer, more composed again.
"No," she said, without hesitation. "Rules are rules. The pairings are final. Even if I could change them… I wouldn't."
That answer made Riva's shoulders drop, just a little. Her face, despite her best effort, visibly fell. She nodded respectfully, even though disappointment glimmered in her eyes.
Megha saw it. And for some reason, it tugged at her a little more than she expected.
She sighed, then added, almost casually—but her voice held a little warmth again.
"But…"
That one word made Riva's head snap up. She blinked.
Megha's expression stayed serious, but there was a spark—subtle but undeniable—in her gaze.
"Sur Sangram has a history of not letting go of talent easily," she said. "There have always been… exceptions. In Top 20 duet battles, if both contestants perform at the same level—equally good, equally unique—both can be selected."
Riva's eyes widened a little. She blinked again, processing her words.
"You mean… it's possible?" she asked slowly.
Megha gave a tiny nod, lips twitching at the corners.
"It's rare. But yes. Possible."
For the first time all evening, Riva's face lit up with a soft, genuine smile. It wasn't just relief—it was a small, sweet burst of hope. She looked at Megha and whispered, "Thank you."
Megha smiled back—just for a second.
A moment passed between them, silent but filled with something unspoken. Their eyes locked again, lingering.
Neither of them moved. The air felt still.
And then—
A knock
A spot boy appeared at the entrance, holding a jangling bunch of keys, looking visibly tired and mildly frustrated. He cleared his throat—not loudly, but enough to shatter the stillness in the room.
The moment broke.
Riva blinked, cheeks turning a soft pink as she looked at him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry… didn't realize the time," she said quietly.
Megha, meanwhile, closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. She didn't say anything for a second. She just… stood there, silently cursing herself for getting lost in the moment.
With one deep breath, she straightened her posture—shoulders squared, jaw set—and her cool, composed aura returned like someone had flipped a switch.
Without meeting Riva's eyes again, she spoke in her usual firm, distant tone.
"Maybe you should go now. Our staff is doing overtime because of you. And I'm getting late as well."
She glanced down at her wristwatch, lips pursed. Riva nodded quickly, clearly embarrassed again.
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry. Thank you so much," she said, clutching the strap of her bag tighter as she began to leave.
Megha simply gave a small, wordless nod. Just like that, she was back to being the Ice Queen. She turned smoothly, almost too smoothly, and began walking toward the exit.
As she passed the spot boy, she gave him a polite, quiet: "Thanks, Bhaiya"
The boy stepped aside, and Riva slipped past him, still a bit dazed and very red in the face.
As the door shut softly behind Riva, the room fell quiet.
Megha stood there for a moment, arms loosely crossed, staring at the empty space where the girl had just been. A small sigh escaped her—not dramatic, not tired—just… thoughtful.
The spot boy shifted beside her, jingling the keys in his hand impatiently.
Megha blinked out of her thoughts, straightening up slightly.
"You can lock up now," she said, her tone back to neutral, professional.
The boy gave a tired nod, clearly relieved.
Megha turned to leave, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. As she reached the hallway, she murmured to herself, "Right. Because clearly, I've become the kind of person who gives career advice with twinkly eyes at 9 PM."
She looked down at herself and scoffed. "Ice queen, huh? More like mildly melted ice cream"
The spot boy coughed lightly, clearly unsure if he was supposed to pretend he hadn't heard any of that.
Megha turned to him with a glare that immediately made him stand straighter. "Rajan. If anyone asks, no—I wasn't talking to myself. Got it?"
He nodded so fast it almost looked painful. "Yes, ma'am. Good night, ma'am!"
She gave a final nod to the spot boy now locking the main door and headed off down the hallway—calm, collected, back to being Megha Sinha. Judge. Professional. Ice queen.
Mostly.