The first time Rhea had spoken to Nakula and Sahadeva properly—not as just another presence in the palace, not as the silent observer she had always been—had been a late afternoon long ago.

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting a warm golden hue over Hastinapura's courtyards. The heat of the day had faded, replaced by a comforting breeze that rustled through the palace gardens. Rhea had no intention of seeking company, but sometimes, company had a way of finding her.

She had been seated beneath a sprawling neem tree, enjoying a rare moment of quiet, when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps—light, hesitant.

When she turned, she saw two figures standing awkwardly a few paces away. Nakula and Sahadeva.

They couldn't have been more than ten or eleven at the time. Both identical in their sharp features and striking resemblance to their mother, but where Nakula held himself with easy grace, Sahadeva's stance was quieter, more reserved. They had seen her before, of course—Rhea had lived in the palace long enough for them to know who she was—but they had never truly spoken.

It was Nakula who broke the silence first. "You sit here a lot," he observed, not quite a question, but not quite a statement either.

Rhea raised an eyebrow. "I do."

There was a brief pause. She watched as Nakula nudged Sahadeva slightly, as if urging him to say something. Sahadeva, in turn, shot his brother an unimpressed glance before turning his gaze back to Rhea.

"You don't talk much," Sahadeva said bluntly.

Rhea couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. "Neither do you."

Nakula grinned at that, clearly amused. "That's true," he admitted, plopping down on the ground beside her, unbothered by formalities. Sahadeva hesitated for a brief moment before following suit, though he was more careful as he sat, as if still deciding whether this was where he was supposed to be.

Rhea studied them for a moment. They were younger than her by a few years, but there was something in their eyes—something sharp and observant.

"You and your brothers don't usually talk to me," she remarked, not accusing, just curious.

Nakula shrugged. "You look like you don't want to be talked to."

That made her chuckle again. "Fair enough."

There was a pause as a gentle wind rustled the leaves above them. The conversation should have felt awkward, forced, but somehow, it didn't. The twins didn't speak like their older brothers did. There was no weight of expectations in their words, no underlying tension of courtly politics. They were just... talking.

It was strange, Rhea thought, how easily they had settled near her, as if they had always belonged in this quiet space.

"Do you like it here?" Sahadeva asked suddenly.

Rhea blinked. "Hastinapura?"

He nodded.

She exhaled slowly, tilting her head toward the sky. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's all I've ever known. But sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be somewhere else."

Nakula frowned slightly. "Where?"

"Somewhere quieter," she said, thoughtful. "Somewhere where people don't talk in riddles or pretend to be something they're not. Where I don't have to wonder what someone actually means when they say something."

Nakula hummed in thought, then grinned. "Sounds boring."

Rhea let out an exasperated laugh. "I'd take boring over confusing sometimes."

Sahadeva, who had been quiet for a moment, spoke next. "I think I'd like a place like that," he said, his voice softer. "Somewhere peaceful."

Nakula shot him a sideways glance. "You'd miss everyone."

Sahadeva considered that, then nodded. "Probably."

Rhea observed the way the two of them interacted—so different, yet so alike. Nakula was easygoing, always quick with a smile, but there was an awareness in him, as if he noticed more than he let on. Sahadeva, on the other hand, was quieter, more measured. He didn't waste words. He didn't fill silences just because he could.

"You two are different from your brothers," Rhea mused aloud.

Nakula smirked. "You mean we're not as loud?"

"That," she admitted, "but also... something else."

Sahadeva looked at her then, his eyes unreadable. "You're different too."

That made her pause. No one had ever said that to her before.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. It wasn't uncomfortable—just a natural quiet that settled between them like an old familiarity.

Then Nakula stretched his arms above his head. "I like you," he declared suddenly.

Rhea raised an eyebrow at the sudden statement. "That's nice."

Sahadeva gave his brother an unimpressed look. "You barely know her."

Nakula grinned. "I don't have to." He turned back to Rhea. "You don't try to sound wise when you're not, and you don't treat us like we're children."

Rhea smirked. "Maybe I should."

"Too late," he said easily.

Rhea shook her head, but she was smiling. She hadn't expected this encounter. She hadn't expected to enjoy their company. But for the first time in a long while, she found herself speaking without caution, without calculation.

And it was... nice.

The sun continued its slow descent, the sky now painted in soft hues of orange and pink.

"We should probably head back," Sahadeva said after a while.

Nakula groaned. "Do we have to?"

"Yes."

Nakula sighed dramatically before standing up, brushing the dust off his tunic. He extended a hand toward Rhea without thinking. "Come on."

She hesitated for only a second before taking it. His grip was firm, steady, before he let go and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"See you tomorrow?" Nakula asked, glancing at her.

Rhea smirked. "Maybe."

Sahadeva tilted his head slightly. "You will."

She didn't know why, but she believed him.

And as she watched them walk away, she realized something.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn't thinking about politics. Or duty. Or survival.

She was just... existing.

And for now, that was enough.