Unknown Happen Stance

Chapter 52: "Move Forward Musa & Forgive"

Musa held the pole with the weights of Discipline and Strength wrapped around the pillar she was halfway to the arrow Mulan shot into the woodwork of the tall pole. It is a slow, agonizing ascent, each inch a testament to a resolve born of desperation more than desire. The air itself feels heavy, thick with unspoken anxieties, not just Musa's own, but those radiating from the watching few. Mulan stands apart, a quiet sentinel, her wisdom a beacon in the somber atmosphere, knowing that true transformation blossoms only when the old skin of hurt becomes unbearable, when the pain of stagnation finally outweighs the fearful unknown of growth.

"I can't believe you convinced her to try that." Shang's voice, laced with a familiar concern, cuts through the strained silence, a gentle echo of a protector's doubt. Mulan turns, a faint ripple of melancholy in her eyes, a wisdom etched by countless battles, both outer and inner. "Shang, I didn't it. She decided on her own. I did the same thing with Lonnie. The only way one can completely let go of insecurities is by fully embracing the concept you change only because the pain of staying the same is worse than the pain of actually changing." She pauses, a wistful sigh escaping her lips. "I didn't make her choose but perhaps I did plant the seed of courage she chose to sow inside her heart." It is a delicate distinction, one that acknowledges both responsibility and the ultimate sovereignty of the soul.

Lonnie still holds onto Ben's left hand, a silent anchor in her own nervous anticipation. But Evie, dear, sensitive Evie, has turned her face away entirely. She cannot watch anymore, her face aflame, red and flowing with tears that speak of a shared burden, a vicarious agony. She is too close to Musa, too empathetic to the raw vulnerability displayed. The sight of someone pushing aside their pain, even for the promise of shaking off crippling anxieties, is almost unbearable, a testament to the quiet suffering one experiences when witnessing the struggles of those they cherish most.

"Musa," a voice breaks through the frantic rhythm of her breathing, a female voice, impossibly clear, emanating not from the world outside, but from the cavernous depths of memory within. The world dims around her, the cold steel of the pole momentarily forgotten as a profound recognition settles in her heart, a bittersweet ache. Could it be? Is this fleeting comfort, or a final, necessary confrontation?

"Mom? Is that you?" Musa inquires, the question a whisper lost to the wind, yet ringing with the loudest hope she has felt in years.
"It is me, Musa, Matlin." The voice responds, soft as a lullaby yet firm as ancient stone. "My memory will not be gone from the world as long as your presence is in it. I live on in your heart. Your songs don't need to be about me. They need to be about you, my innocent daughter. Losing me wasn't your fault." It is a gentle but insistent plea, an ethereal hand reaching across the divide to guide her away from the shadows of self-blame, urging her to reclaim her own narrative, to sing of her own vibrant truth.

"Please forgive all who hurt you. Move on forward and let go. You are giving yourself too high an expectation. Let go, sweetheart, my dear child. Let go. Write about your friends. Don't tuck yourself away in a darkened closet invisible to the rest of the world. Help heal your world by sharing your own story of growth." The words are a balm, yet also a challenge, asking her to shed the familiar comfort of grief, to embrace the terrifying freedom of the unknown. Her past, a heavy shroud, is gently, persuasively lifted, revealing the path to an unburdened future.

"But Mom! I don't think I can let go." Musa exclaims, her voice cracking with the raw, untamed fear of a soul clinging to its familiar sorrow. "You must let go. I'm fine. I'm always here in your heart. Forgive your father, he knows not how well he's scared you. I don't want to see you mopey and living alone the rest of your life, Musa. Open up, take down the bravado wall you have and set your musical heart free." With that, a wisp, like a forgotten melody, kisses her cheek and responds, its presence fading even as the words resonate within her. "I loved you, Musa, it didn't matter how flawed you were to me. Nothing could ever erase any of my love for you, my dear child." And then, she is gone, leaving behind not emptiness, but a quiet, resolute strength. Musa pushes the last few stretches of her arms to the top of the pole and pulls the arrow from the top of the pillar itself, a physical manifestation of her internal breakthrough.

"Woohoo! Musa! Way to go!" Lonnie shouts, letting go of Ben's left hand, cupping both her hands over her mouth to spread the volume over the crowd, her relief a vibrant splash of color in the lingering melancholy.
"You can look now, Evie." Ben advises, but Evie remains stubbornly turned away. "Nope, not looking, how will she get down?!" Evie exclaims, the fear still gripping her.
"Throw the arrow down, Musa!" Shang calls out, his voice a steady guide. "And let the pole slide you down. Mulan will catch you before you slam into the ground." She throws the arrow down; Shang collects it to put it away. Musa untangles the weight straps and lets them help her slide down the pole, working with their heaviness this time. Mulan catches her by her waist and stands her up, then gently gives her a pat on the back and says, "Great job, way to overcome something very physical and new to you, Musa. I'm as proud of you as my Dad was of me for being his daughter." Musa, a newfound lightness in her spirit, reveals, "Mulan, one of my grandparents were Chinese. I respect your current culture and teaching methods, you're like the sister I never had growing up." Her Auradon friends—Ben, Lonnie, and Evie—drop their jaws open, surprised by this intimate revelation.

"That means a lot. If you ever need more motherly advice as a daughter, my family, either me, my mom or my Grandmother are welcome to give it, sister." Mulan replies. Mulan gently kisses her on the cheek, a silent promise of enduring connection then continues. "I think you gave your VK friend a little bit of a scare; go take her on a shopping trip before the trip back to Auradon later tonight."
Musa is surprised when Ben finally gets Evie to look. Her tears are gone, but her face is still red, as one gets when they came too close to fire smoke, a vivid reminder of the fear she endured. Musa runs up and hugs her, understanding the silent anguish behind Evie's distress. "Don't be embarrassed, I knew every risk I was taking, Evie. You don't need to be upset, Evie," Musa whispers, cooing softly, her voice filled with a newfound empathy, a testament to the profound healing that allows one to comfort others, even as the echoes of their own pain still gently resonate.