The warm Udaipur sun spilled like liquid gold over the tarmac as Kiara Mishra, Rupali Rana, and Kriti Rawat emerged from the sliding glass doors of Maharana Pratap Airport. The trio looked like a mismatched parade—three suitcases rolling unevenly, three pairs of sunglasses perched at different stages of exhaustion, and three hearts buzzing with the quiet electricity of being away from home. Outside, the air felt different—heavier yet freer, like it carried centuries of palaces and whispers of royal secrets.

Kiara, perpetually impatient, was already scrolling through her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, thumb flying across the screen with sharp, exasperated taps. The hem of her loose airport kurta swayed with every irritated movement.