He'd first seen her from the wings of the stage. Just like the stars peeking through the deep violet sky - she twinkled. The girl with a crown, glistening every time she moved, catching the light and his attention. Girls and their tricks, he thought, a smirk appearing on his lightly bearded face.

The crowd had thinned hearing the artist before, and it was their turn now, to entertain those who had stayed back. His band, the Misfits, were new to performing on the big stage and extremely fortunate to have gotten the gig. It wasn't so much luck as it was the charm of their drummer's sister who worked for the organisers. Jessica had managed to cajole the big bosses, namely Arun Walia, the man every band wanted to impress. Just one nod from him and their careers would be set for life. Matthew still wasn't sure how much charm she had mustered up, because Jessica had managed to get them the filler time slot.

Another other band would have hated this interval, because it was the slot in between major acts. A reprieve used by most festival-goers to head to the bar or wait in long lines to empty their bladders. A period of limbo that stage technicians typically utilised to prepare for the more significant performers who would be playing next. For better or worse, that's the slot they were given, and with just two live performances under their belt, they were thrilled at this rare opportunity. As the stage crew hurried around the wooden platform, setting up the DJ console for the main act after them, Matthew, couldn't help but feel grateful to play on a platform as major as the Ultra Sound festival.

The Misfits, although young, in their early 20s, weren't completely inexperienced. Joseph, Ashley and Matthew had been best buddies for over ten years, nine of which they were also bandmates. They started off as the quintessential set of music-loving teenagers, who would practise in the dilapidated shed behind Matthew's ancestral house. Every day, after piano class with Mrs Braganza, the three bandmates would play their instruments and daydream about life on tour, and like every teenage boy, they dreamt of gorgeous groupies in tiny denim shorts, who would worship them. Ambitious and naive dreams, fed their musical spirits. Their performances were few, yes, but they had a loyal audience who were made up of the church congregation on Sundays, the six well-fed dukors and Xavier, Matthews's older brother. An audience was an audience, and they had been playing to these local fans for a little under a decade. We're not complete novices, thought Matthew.

Now looking out, preparing to play on stage at Ultra Sound, he didn't care that there were more people in line to get Bacardi Breezers than in front of them. Anything to get ahead, he thought, as he stole a glance at the growing crowd heading to the bar. It was the first large-scale music festival in India, and although they weren't getting paid, their names would be printed on the flyers, and that was far more than he had expected.

The familiar weight of his brother's Gibson gave him some comfort as he tried to quiet his racing mind. A lot can happen in 15 minutes, he thought, as he put the well-worn guitar strap across his shoulder. It was just enough time to play five songs, even though they'd only practised and perfected four. Of the four, he was most proud of their signature song, one with a guitar solo that he'd sat up long nights rehearsing instead of fighting the grief that had taken hold and found a permanent spot in his chest. Matthew had channelled all his hurt and anger into its lyrics. Feelings that could resurface and taint this opportunity he now had before him. Taking a deep breath, he hoped their performance would secure their dream of getting recognition and touring the country playing their music. He breathed out, releasing the knot in his lungs.

Joseph and Ashley looked ready and had taken their spots on stage. Matthew made the sign of the cross and then walked on, the guitar suddenly feeling heavier. "This one's for you," he whispered, thinking about his older brother, who he wished was in the crowd.

The strobe lights behind them were set on an automatic loop, flashing haphazardly. The spotlight too seemed to be more focused on an empty spot on the floorboard than the band. The light guy was not on duty. He was probably on his 15-minute smoke break, thought Matthew. Only a tiny plume of smoke could be seen coming from behind the light and sound platform, which confirmed his suspicions. Matthew shook his head, none of that mattered. He looked at what was left of the crowd; he noticed a tiny man in a long white robe - a photographer following behind him like a creepy shadow. Strange, he thought. Then, catching his attention, or rather, pulling focus, again, was the girl in the crown, she was standing alone and least interested in the stage, more concerned about the bar.

"Concentrate, Matt," he murmured under his breath.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the salty ocean air. The faint sound of a wave crashing onto a rock merged with the beat of his drummer's countdown. 3, 2, 1...The first chord he played reverberated through the open-air enclosure. A trepid, fleeting feeling of accomplishment tickled in his chest. You got this.