The mood in the lounge shifted from polite chatter to the kind of anticipatory chaos only Kiara Mishra could conjure. She leaned forward in her chair like a queen about to reveal a secret to her court. Her lips curved into a sly smile that promised mischief, and her eyes glittered with the kind of wicked excitement that made her friends either lean in closer—or lean back in fear. When she finally spoke, her voice dipped into a conspiratorial whisper, soft yet sharp enough to slice through the low hum of conversation.

“I have,” she announced, pausing dramatically for effect, “the ultimate Mehendi prank.”