A Walk in the Clouds
A fine drizzle fell from the gray sky. Daniel turned his face upward, and his skin was instantly dusted with mist. He took a deep breath, savoring the damp air.
Behind him, the prison gates clanged shut with a metallic groan. Adjusting the strap of his sports bag slung over his shoulder, he walked briskly alongside the high brick wall…
***
Two and a half years earlier
Daniel drove through the city, trying to shake off his irritation and anger. Where had the love gone? Why couldn’t he and his wife understand each other anymore? On the passenger seat, his abandoned phone buzzed insistently with an incoming call.
The ringing stopped abruptly.
“Good,” Daniel muttered through gritted teeth.
But before he could reach the next traffic light, the phone started up again.
“What now?” he snapped, snatching it up.
“Dan, I can’t keep doing this. You just ran off—we didn’t finish talking…”
Emma kept talking, picking up right where they’d left off at home. Her words drilled into his skull, making it hard to focus on the road. He wanted to shout, “Just shut up!”
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” his wife raised her voice.
“I know what you want me to say. Fine. Maybe we should split instead of torturing each other.” He slammed the brakes, barely stopping at a red light. The phone slipped from his fingers, but he caught it just in time.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice came through. “Don’t leave, Daddy!”
“What? Emmy, sweetheart, I’m not leaving. Don’t cry. I’ll be home soon—”
A horn blared behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Daniel growled at the impatient driver.
He hit the gas and tossed the phone aside, glancing at the passenger seat for half a second. That was all it took. Suddenly, his car slammed into an unseen obstacle, and the impact of another car jolted them forward. The seatbelt dug into his chest as he was thrown against the steering wheel.
“Damn it!” He scrambled out.
On the rain-slicked pavement, just in front of his wheels, a teenage girl lay face down.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted to the gathering crowd before crouching beside her.
That was the end of his old life—his job, his wife, his daughter…
Daniel was sentenced to two years. He considered it lenient. If someone had hit his Emmy, he’d have killed the driver with his bare hands right then and there.
Emma filed for divorce immediately, remarried within six months, and moved away with Emmy. Now he understood—she’d had someone else long before the accident. That’s why she’d provoked him.
***
Daniel
He climbed to the fourth floor and rang the doorbell of his flat, knowing no one waited inside. Then he pressed the neighbor’s buzzer.
“Daniel? You’re back?” The elderly woman clasped her hands. “They’ve gone, you know?”
“I know. Did they leave the keys?”
“Of course, let me fetch them.” She shuffled inside and returned moments later with the spare set. “Come by anytime.”
The flat greeted him with heavy silence. In Emmy’s room, her forgotten stuffed bear sat on the bed—the one he’d given her for her fifth birthday. He pressed it to his face, breathing in the lingering scent of his daughter, swallowing back a groan.
He soaked in the bath for hours before collapsing into bed, only to wake at half past six in the evening, ravenous.
No decent job would take him with a prison record. He settled for a warehouse job at a bakery nearby—it would do for now.
Before, he’d watched films, checked the news, chatted with mates online. If he had a laptop, maybe he could freelance. But Emma had taken his.
He’d saved a decent stash over the years—his emergency fund, which Emma never knew about. He dug it out and grinned when he found it untouched. Problem solved. The next day, he bought a cheap laptop.
Now he’d come home, boot it up, skim job listings, and scan the news. When he found Emmy’s profile, his chest tightened. She’d grown so much. He didn’t message her—didn’t know how Emma would react. But he checked her page daily. One day, he’d reach out. Not yet.
Then an idea struck him—find the girl he’d hit. She’d been fifteen then. Investigation, trial, two years inside… She’d be eighteen now. He’d never forget her name, though her face was a blur. Would he even recognize her?
He searched her details. One profile photo seemed vaguely familiar—a girl smiling, yet her eyes sharp and serious. Her page was private.
Daniel messaged her, adding a friend request. He lied—said she reminded him of his daughter, whom his ex had taken far away. What else could a thirty-two-year-old man say to an eighteen-year-old girl?
He needed common ground. So he spun a tale—said he’d been bedridden after an accident, couldn’t walk. All nonsense, just to hook her interest. He wrote under the alias “Tom,” using old photos. What if her parents monitored her messages?
Three days later, she replied. Accepted his request. In one selfie, the edge of a wheelchair was visible. No doubt—it was her.
Sophie wrote plainly—no drama. Said she’d been hit by a car too, but less lucky. No hate, no rage. Just: “I work online, freelance writing. Pays decent.”
“Brilliant! Could you teach me? I missed a lot…”
Now he came home, logged on, and waited for Sophie’s messages. Within a month, they were friends. He dodged questions about the accident, calling the memories too painful.
“You’ll understand when you get out of that chair,” he wrote.
Guilt gnawed at him. She deserved the world, and he’d stolen her mobility. Shame burned him for lying, but would she talk to him otherwise? Soon, they were Skyping.
One day, she invited him for her birthday.
“Will your parents mind a bloke my age visiting?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about you,” she said lightly. “Mum’s glad I’ve got a friend.”
***
Sophie
She’d been at her desk for hours, rewriting an article. The words just wouldn’t sit right.
“Tea?” Her mum peeked in.
“Mm.”
She saved the draft—needed fresh eyes later. Sipping tea, she spun phrases in her head until Skype chimed. Tom! She answered, camera on.
“Hey!” His voice crackled through.
“Early today,” she smiled.
“What’s your biggest dream? If you could have anything?”
“Can you actually deliver, or is there a limit?” She loved throwing him off.
“I’ll try. So?”
“Walk on clouds. Stargaze at midnight. Easy, right?”
He paused. “Piece of cake. Give me till tomorrow.” Then he logged off.
“Oddball,” she chuckled, returning to her work.
On her birthday, rain poured till noon. Then the clouds parted—a good sign, she thought.
The doorbell startled her. Too early for visitors. Unless…
She wheeled out and nearly bumped into Tom. In person, he looked younger, kinder. Her mum hovered, wary.
He’d worried she’d recognize him—she’d been in court. But he’d changed. She didn’t.
“Happy birthday, gorgeous.” He handed her red roses.
She buried her nose in them, blushing.
“Ready?”
“For what?” she and her mum asked together.
“Cloud-walking.”
Her mum gasped.
“Don’t fret. Bundle her up,” he said.
“But her chair’s not meant for rough ground—”
“I’ll manage. We won’t be long.” He wheeled Sophie to the lift.
“Be careful!” her mum called after them.
Downstairs, planks bridged the steps. Outside, Sophie squinted in the sudden light.
“Ready to fly?” He pushed her through puddles reflecting the sky.
“I’m flying!” She spread her arms wide.
Her mum watched from the window, tears streaking her face—joy, pain, helplessness.
“Faster!” Sophie clutched the armrests, knuckles white.
Later, breathless, he asked, “Fun?”
“Incredible. Thank you.”
“One more surprise.” Back inside, she gushed to her mum about clouds until Tom shooed them from her room.
At dusk, he called them in. Curtains drawn, the ceiling blazed with stars—flickering, glowing.
“How…?” she whispered.
“Mate works in telly. Helped rig it up. Not the real thing, but close, yeah?”
Her mum wept quietly.
“We’ll get you a proper outdoor chair. Then real stargazing.” He left with a promise to return.
Later, her mum murmured, “Lovely man. Just… a bitAs the stars faded above her, Sophie whispered into the quiet, “Thank you for teaching me how to fly.”
