The evening had settled over the palace like a golden shawl, soft lights casting long, lazy shadows across marble floors and ornate arches. The air hummed with wedding excitement—the faint clatter of bangles, distant laughter from the gardens, the scent of marigold and incense weaving through corridors. Yet in one secluded corner of this sprawling estate, time seemed to fold in on itself. Kiara, Kriti, and Rupali were sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled like a three-headed hydra of chaos, completely absorbed in a singular, glorious topic: The Ultimate Haldi Prank.

Kiara leaned back on her elbows, chin tilted upward like a queen plotting her empire. Her eyes sparkled with the dangerous light of someone who had tasted victory in advance. “I swear,” she declared, her voice dramatic enough to echo off the painted ceilings, “if we pull this off, we’ll go down in wedding history.”