Muji woke up, it was the typical start to her day. She felt trapped—her mind alert, her senses wide awake, but her body… unresponsive. Her limbs was replaced by stillness. Her body no longer obeyed her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The world outside her was as it always had been, vibrant and full of life, but she was caught in a cage she could neither see nor touch.
She had always been different—her body had never worked quite the way she wanted it to. Growing up, she was told how strong and resilient she was, that her quiet nature was something to be admired. But those words never felt like enough. They never filled the void of isolation she felt when everyone around her seemed to move in ways she couldn’t.
Now, in this strange, paralysis, she was utterly still. The sounds of the world around her—the chatter of her sisters, the clattering of dishes from the kitchen, her father reciting a familiar surahs—faded in and out, becoming distant as she fought to focus. There was no one who could hear her. No one who could feel her desperate longing for connection.
She thought back to the times when she was more alert and able to communicate, when she used the faintest gestures or simple eye movements to tell her family she was there. She wasn’t lost then. She could still be part of the world.
But now, everything was different.
Her mind raced, and for a brief moment, she wished for the ability to scream, to reach out, to move with the grace she once knew. But she couldn’t.
Then, the memories surfaced. She remembered the time when someone had seen her. Really seen her. It had been at a school event, one where she sat quietly in her wheelchair at the back, watching the others interact. It was a girl from her class, someone she didn’t know well, who approached and asked if she wanted to join. Not because of pity, but because she simply saw a person sitting alone, longing for inclusion. That girl had smiled and asked if Muji wanted to help choose the colour for the painting. No big gestures. No expectations. Just an invitation to exist. It was small, but it had meant the world.
The girl didn’t see Muji’s limitations. She only saw her potential. She only saw her.
A surge of energy coursed through Muji, and though her body remained immobile, her spirit stirred. If that girl could see her, then perhaps the world could, too. She needed to find her way to that kind of inclusivity again, the kind that didn’t rely on words or movement, but on presence and understanding. There were spaces where she belonged. She had seen them before.
The path to being truly seen and included wasn’t something she could walk alone. It wasn’t something she could walk at all—not with her body’s current silence. But maybe, just maybe, she could guide others to walk it with her.
A tear slid down her cheek—not from sorrow, but from a quiet resolve. Her journey to inclusion wasn’t over. It was just beginning.
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