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As Anya and Duryodhan entered Rajmata Gandhari’s chambers, they both respectfully bowed before her. Gandhari, always warm and loving toward her children, smiled widely, her blindfolded eyes soft with affection, and raised her hand to bless them both.

“Bless you, my children.  did you sleep well last night?” Gandhari asked, her voice gentle and filled with care.

Anya, eager to answer, smiled brightly, “It was good, Rajmata. Very restful!” She glanced at Duryodhan, remembering the warmth and comfort of waking up next to him. Even if someone hogged all the space, she thought mischievously but kept her smile sweet and innocent.

Duryodhan caught her playful look and smirked knowingly, a silent exchange passing between them. Just as he was about to tease her, Gandhari interrupted with a warm chuckle. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, Anya, there is a small tradition I’d like you to follow today,” she said, her tone light yet firm. “It is customary for a new wife to cook a meal for her husband. It symbolizes care and love.”

Anya’s eyes widened in mild panic as the words sunk in. Cook? Me? Her heart raced as her mind flashed back to her disastrous attempts at cooking in the past. She could barely drape a saree without help—this was a whole new battlefield!

Sensing her hesitation, Duryodhan quickly stepped in. “Mata, Anya isn’t really experienced with cooking yet. Perhaps the servants should—”

But Gandhari’s soft laughter interrupted him. “Oh, there’s no need to worry. The servants can help with preparation, and Anya can serve the meal. That alone will be enough to fulfill the ritual.”

Anya, despite her lack of confidence in cooking, felt a sudden surge of determination. She wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially not one tied to tradition. “No, no! I’ll do it!” she blurted out, her voice louder than intended. “I can cook! I mean, how hard can it be?”

Duryodhan gave her a sideways glance, a mixture of amusement and concern playing on his face. “Anya...” he started, his tone cautionary, but she was already fired up.

“I’ll make something wonderful, just wait!” she declared with exaggerated enthusiasm, flipping her braid dramatically as she hurried toward the kitchen. Duryodhan could only shake his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he watched her march off.

---

In the kitchen, however, things quickly descended into chaos.

Anya stood in the middle of the large, bustling kitchen, staring at the unfamiliar ingredients spread before her. “Okay... I think this goes here?” she muttered to herself, tossing a handful of flour into a bowl, though she had no idea what she was supposed to do next.

Before long, the kitchen looked like a scene from a disaster movie. Flour puffed up in clouds, coating her hair and clothes in a white film. She knocked over a jar of lentils, sending them spilling across the floor in a clattering mess, and nearly burned her hand as she struggled to control the heat of the fire.

“Why is everything sticking to the pan?” she grumbled, frustrated as she tried to scrape a half-burnt mixture off with a wooden spoon. How did people in ancient times even cook like this without microwaves?

The kitchen staff stood nearby, watching with a mix of concern and helplessness as they were forbidden to interfere. Anya’s muttering about measurements and flavors barely made sense, and her face was dusted with flour, sweat, and determination. She was a tornado of chaos, yet there was something undeniably endearing about her frantic attempts.

---

Meanwhile, back in the dining hall, Duryodhan sat with his brothers and Karna. His brothers were trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress their laughter as they teased him mercilessly.

“So, big brother,” one of his younger brothers began with a sly grin, “are you really going to eat the food bhabhi cooked? We heard she’s... uh, giving it her best shot.”

Another brother snickered. “I just hope you survive, brother Duryodhan. It’s brave of you to let her try.”

Karna, always the more composed and gentle one, chimed in with a warm smile. “I’m sure whatever she makes, it will be prepared with love. And that’s what counts, isn’t it?”

Duryodhan shot Karna a grateful look but before he could respond, the door to the dining hall burst open. Anya strode in proudly, her cheeks flushed from the kitchen’s heat, carrying a tray laden with dishes.

“I made enough for everyone!” she announced with a bright smile, placing the dishes in front of them one by one. Her face was beaming with pride, utterly unaware of the flour still dusted on her face and clothes. “I hope you all enjoy it!”

The brothers exchanged wary glances as they tentatively took small bites, trying their best to keep their expressions neutral. But it was impossible to mask the discomfort. The food, to put it kindly, was a disaster.

Anya, however, didn’t notice. She continued to explain her process enthusiastically. “I call this ‘Anya’s Special!’ It’s kind of a mix of everything I found. The flour was a bit tricky, and those lentils? They’re super crunchy, right? I thought it would add texture!”

One by one, her brothers-in-law quietly pushed their plates away, their faces strained with polite smiles. “Bhabhi,” one of them began, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, “this is... a dish only our dear brother should have the honor of enjoying.”

Karna coughed into his hand, trying not to laugh. “Yes, only Duryodhan deserves this.”

With that, they made their quick escape, leaving only Duryodhan and Anya alone in the hall. Anya, still brimming with excitement, turned to him with shining eyes. “Well, what do you think?”

Duryodhan, ever the loyal and loving husband, took a deep breath and took a bite. His throat immediately tightened, and the overwhelming saltiness hit him like a wave. He struggled to chew and swallow, trying his best to maintain his composure.

Anya narrowed her eyes suspiciously, crossing her arms. “Tell me the truth, Duryodhan. You’re just saying it’s good to spare my feelings, aren’t you? I’ve read about this in romance stories. The husband always pretends the wife’s cooking is perfect!”

Duryodhan, knowing he couldn’t fool her, chuckled softly. “Alright, alright. It’s... a little salty. And I think something might’ve gotten burnt. The lentils are, uh, very crunchy.”

Anya’s face fell, her dreams of culinary success crashing down. “What? But I tried so hard!” she exclaimed dramatically.

Seeing her disappointment, Duryodhan couldn’t help but smile. He pulled her close, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. “You did,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “And I love you for it.”

Anya pouted, but her heart warmed at his tenderness. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

Duryodhan chuckled again and leaned down, his lips brushing hers gently, sending a spark of warmth through her. “No, I’m saying it because it’s true. Even if the food is... unique, I’d eat it every day if it meant you made it for me.”

Anya’s pout slowly transformed into a mischievous grin. “Oh? Then I’ll cook for you every day! Be prepared.”

Duryodhan groaned playfully but pulled her even closer, his eyes filled with affection. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of water nearby, just in case.”

Anya giggled and lightly swatted his chest. “Hey! I’ll get better, just wait.”

He smirked, lowering his voice, and leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “I’ll be waiting for you tonight, my wife.”

Anya’s heart skipped a beat at the sudden shift in his tone. She blinked up at him, her playful smile fading as a blush crept across her cheeks. Before she could respond, Duryodhan pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, this time with more intensity, pulling her body against his as the empty dining hall echoed with the sound of their shared breath.

When they finally pulled apart, Duryodhan’s eyes glimmered with promise. “Tonight,” he whispered again, his voice low and full of desire.

Anya could only nod, her heart racing, as she felt the weight of his words sink in.

------
In the quiet halls of Indraprastha, a tense atmosphere hung in the air. The Pandavas, each lost in thought, gathered in the central chamber, their expressions clouded with concern. It had been days since they had returned from Dwarka, yet Nakul remained unusually quiet, a stark contrast to his usual jovial self.

Yudhishthir, the eldest, was the first to break the silence. “Nakul has not spoken much since we returned. His spirit seems... dimmed.” He sighed heavily, looking at his brothers. “It is Anya’s marriage to Duryodhan that troubles him.”

Bhima clenched his fists, his usual fiery temper ignited by the mere mention of Duryodhan. “I never understood why she chose that man,” he growled, his voice filled with frustration. “Nakul was ready—he loved her! And she... she chose that fox Duryodhan over our brother.”

Arjun, standing by the window, gazed out at the gardens, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “We’ve all seen it, haven’t we? The way Nakul looked at Anya, the hope in his eyes.” He paused, his voice softening. “But her heart was with Duryodhan. We cannot change that.”

The tension in the room was palpable. It wasn’t just Nakul’s sadness that weighed on them—it was the deep, shared disappointment in Anya’s decision. They had all hoped she would see Nakul for the gentle and loyal soul he was.

Draupadi, who had been silently watching the conversation unfold, finally spoke, her voice laced with sorrow. “I, too, wished for Nakul and Anya’s union. My husband deserved someone who would cherish him as much as he cherished her.” Her eyes flickered with sadness as she thought of her gentle-hearted husband, who had always been so kind and caring.

She stood up, glancing at each of the Pandavas. “But it was her choice,” she said quietly. “We cannot force love where it does not exist.”

Yudhishthir nodded solemnly. “That is true, Draupadi. But it still hurts to see Nakul in this state. We are his brothers, and we feel his pain as if it were our own.”

Draupadi’s heart ached as she thought about Nakul, his silent pain gnawing at her. He had always been so open with his feelings, but now, after Anya’s marriage, he had withdrawn into himself. He barely spoke, his usual light-hearted nature replaced by a quiet sadness.

---

Later that evening, Draupadi found Nakul sitting alone in the gardens, staring out into the distance. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked lost in thought. She approached him gently, her heart heavy with concern.

“Arya Nakul,” she called softly, sitting beside him. He didn’t respond at first, his gaze still fixed ahead. After a moment, he sighed deeply, finally turning to look at her.

“Draupadi,” he murmured, offering her a weak smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Draupadi reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “You’ve been so quiet since we returned. I’m worried about you.”

Nakul’s expression softened, but the sadness remained. “It’s nothing, Draupadi. I’m just... tired.”

Draupadi shook her head, her eyes filled with empathy. “It’s not nothing, Arya. I know what’s been troubling you. It’s Anya, isn’t it?”

At the mention of Anya’s name, Nakul’s face fell. He lowered his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought... I thought maybe she would choose me.” His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly looked away, blinking back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I loved her. I still do, but... she chose Duryodhan.”

Draupadi’s heart broke for him. She gently cupped his face, turning him to look at her. “I know, Arya. I know how much you cared for her. We all saw it. And I, too, thought you were the better choice. You are kind, and everything a husband should be.”

Nakul’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he listened to her words. “But it wasn’t enough,” he whispered. “I wasn’t enough.”

Draupadi shook her head, her voice firm but tender. “No, Arya. You are more than enough. Sometimes, the heart chooses where it wishes, even if it doesn’t make sense to the rest of us. But you cannot let this break you. You are loved—by me, by your brothers. We will always stand by you.”

Nakul finally allowed a single tear to escape, quickly wiping it away. “Thank you, Draupadi. I’m sorry for being so distant.”

Draupadi leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We are here for you, always.”

The two sat in silence for a while, their hands still intertwined, as the moonlight bathed the gardens in a gentle glow. Though Nakul’s heart was heavy, Draupadi’s comforting presence offered him a sense of peace.

And though Anya had chosen a different path, Nakul knew he would eventually find the strength to move forward, with the unwavering support of his wife and family.