Nowadays, Maisie spends most of her time looking out of their bedroom window. She's arranged the furniture so she can observe the outside world in comfort. A chair from the back room pulled to one ... [+]
Stephanie peered at the calendar: "June 6th".
A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she stared out the window. Three years had already passed since that day. What was once a corner full of life now held unfinished books and a cloud of dust.
From the time she was a child, Stephanie had an innate love for music. Some called it luck, others called her a prodigy; whatever it was, it was undeniable. Her performances were magnetic, never a note out of place. Each one felt like a mother's embrace - warm, certain, and full of care. Her path to the concert stage seemed clear, almost inevitable.
It was Thursday night, June 6th. The chill had already begun to set in, and the much-anticipated autumn recital had arrived. The theatre was packed to the brim. Months of sacrifice had led her here: missed brunches, declined parties, lonely dinners eaten in her room. Everyone knew how important this night was; rumors had spread that the infamous critic, Mr. Leiter, along with several opera scouts, would be in attendance.
Backstage, chaos filled the air - hurried whispers, frantic tuning, clicking heels. Yet amid it all, Stephanie remained composed, tapping her toe lightly on the wooden floor. She had memorized every note and refused a piano accompanist. Being the closing act was routine - go in, impress, repeat.
The other performances flew by, each one met with its own magnitude of praise. Stephanie drifted into dreams of the future until the stage manager tapped her shoulder. It was time. She took her place by the curtain, heart steady, chin high. The coordinator called her name, and the crowd erupted. Each step she took onto the stage drew a swell of applause. Her red dress shimmered beneath the light, all eyes were on her.
She bowed, lifted her violin, and poised her bow.
Then, a sound no one expected. An ugly note escaped from the violin, rough dry, almost broken. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. She tried again, but the second note screeched like the scraping of metal. "Third time's the charm", she whispered to herself, but the melody that followed was chaos - a clash of shrill, violent sounds. The audience watched in pity and disbelief. Stephanie's heart sank. Her hands fell to her sides. Devastated, she fled the stage.
The months that followed were a quiet tragedy. Once confident and radiant, she had folded into herself - a recluse among shadows. Her violin lay hidden under her bed, collecting dust, much like its owner since that night.
Stephanie became almost invisible. Few knew where she'd gone or how she lived. She faded into the background, opting for a quiet and unremarkable life. Much of her life was not the same, but one thing that did remain were her afternoon walks. Each day, she strolled through the park, passed the lake and sometimes lingered at the small bookshop near the corner. It was her only connection to the outside world.
One afternoon, during her usual walk, she noticed a little crowd gathered ahead - unusually still, entranced. As she drew closer, a sound reached her ears. A violin. Her chest tightened; her breath quickened. Each step forward felt heavier than the last. And then she saw them - a young man playing the violin, and beside him, a singer whose voice synergized with the melody. Stephanie froze. The music struck her, enticing yet shattering. The song seemed to pull her back to that night - the crowded theatre, the gasps, the silence that followed. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Don't give in, go all in", the singer cooed.
She couldn't bear it any longer. Stephanie turned and ran, but the singer's words followed her - echoing, looping endlessly in her mind.
When she got back home, she sat on the floor for a long time before pulling the violin case from beneath her bed. Her hands trembled as she unlatched it. There it was, it gleamed despite being buried. Tears blurred her vision as she lifted it out. She rested her chin on the cradle and drew the bow across the strings. The sound that emerged was shaky but warm, like the embrace of a long-lost friend.
Days later, she returned to the park, violin in hand. She found a quiet corner and opened her case. For a while, she just stared, unsure she could do it. Then, with slow and careful deliberation, she rosined her bow, tightened the strings, and took a deep breath. Courage stirred inside her. She began to play.
At first, the notes wavered, but soon her body loosened up, swaying gently with the rhythm. Then she felt someone behind her. Turning, she saw a familiar face, the young man from the other day.
"Would you like to join us?" he asked with a soft smile.
She stared blankly at him, wondering how long he had been standing there.
Then the words came back to her, "Don't give in, go all in". She nodded slowly.
That day marked the beginning of the Saturday Mellow-Mongers, the group that soon filled the park with music - and brought Stephanie back to herself.