**A Walk Among the Clouds**
A fine drizzle fell from the leaden sky. Daniel turned his face upward, and within moments, his skin glistened with mist. He breathed in deeply, savoring the damp air. Behind him, the prison gates clanged shut with a metallic finality. Adjusting the strap of his gym bag over his shoulder, he walked quickly alongside the tall brick wall.
***
Two and a half years earlier
Daniel drove through the city, trying to suppress the anger simmering inside him. Where had the love gone? Why had he and his wife lost all understanding of each other? On the passenger seat, an abandoned phone buzzed insistently, the ringtone choking on its own melody.
Then, silence.
“Better,” Daniel muttered through clenched teeth.
But before he reached the next traffic light, the phone rang again.
“What now?” he snapped, snatching it up.
“Danny, I can’t do this anymore. You just walked out, we never finished talking…”
Rachel’s voice drilled into his skull, picking up where their argument at home had left off. Words twisted into his thoughts, clouding his focus on the road. He wanted to scream, *”Shut up!”*
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she raised her voice.
“I know what you want me to say. Fine. We’re better off apart than torturing each other.” He slammed the brakes, barely stopping at the red light. The phone slipped from his grip—he barely caught it.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice crackled through. “Don’t leave, Daddy!”
“What? Lottie? I’m not leaving, don’t cry. I’ll be home soon—”
A sharp honk cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going!” he barked at the impatient driver behind him.
He hit the gas and tossed the phone aside, glancing briefly at the passenger seat—then the car jolted as if hitting an invisible wall, followed by the violent shove of another vehicle from behind. The seatbelt dug into his chest as he lurched forward.
“Damn it!” He flung the door open and jumped out.
On the rain-slick asphalt, just beyond his front wheels, lay a teenage girl, face down.
“Someone call an ambulance!” he yelled at the gathering crowd before crouching beside her.
And just like that, his old life—the job, the wife, the daughter—was over.
Daniel was sentenced to two years. He considered it light. If someone had hit *his* Lottie, he’d have killed the driver on the spot.
Rachel filed for divorce immediately, remarried within six months, and moved away with their daughter. Only now did he realize she’d had a lover long before the accident. That was why she’d provoked him so often.
***
Back home, Daniel climbed to the fourth floor and rang his own doorbell, knowing no one would answer. Then he pressed the neighbor’s buzzer.
“Daniel? You’re back?” The elderly woman gasped, hands flying to her cheeks. “Your family left, you know?”
“I know. Did they leave my keys?”
“Of course, one moment.” She shuffled inside and returned with a key ring. “Here. Knock if you need anything.”
The flat greeted him with oppressive silence. In Lottie’s room, her forgotten teddy bear sat on the bed—the one he’d given her for her fifth birthday. He pressed it to his face, inhaling the faint scent of his daughter, suppressing a groan.
He soaked in the bath for hours before collapsing into bed. When he woke, the clock read half-past six in the evening. He was starving.
No decent job would take him with his record, so he started as a loader at a bakery nearby. It would do for now.
Before, he’d watched films, checked news, messaged friends online. If he had a laptop, maybe he could find freelance work. But Rachel had taken his.
He’d always made good money and hidden some away—emergency cash. The car was a money pit, and Rachel scolded him for frivolous spending. She never knew about the stash. Rifling through his hiding spot, he grinned—it was still there. Problem solved. The next day, he bought a cheap laptop.
Now, after work, he’d scroll through job postings, stalk the news, dip into social media. When he found Lottie’s profile, his heart leapt. She’d grown so much. He didn’t message her—Rachel might forbid contact. But he checked every day, waiting for the right moment to reach out.
Then, an idea struck: find the girl he’d hit. She’d been fifteen then—investigation, trial, two years inside—so she’d be eighteen now. He’d never forget her name, but her face blurred in memory, smeared with mud when they lifted her onto the stretcher. Would he recognize her?
He typed her name into the search bar. One girl’s avatar seemed faintly familiar—a smile, but stern, serious eyes. Her profile was locked.
Daniel sent a friend request and a message: *You remind me of my daughter. My ex took her far away, won’t let me see her.* A lie, of course. 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: long hospital stay after an accident, learning to walk again. Pure fiction. He wrote under a fake name—*James*—with old photos on the new account. What if her parents monitored her messages?
Three days later, she accepted. A selfie on her page showed the edge of a wheelchair. No doubt—it was her.
Sophie wrote plainly: *A car hit me too. I wasn’t as lucky—I can’t walk.* No hatred, no blame. Just matter-of-fact. *I work online, write articles, make decent money.*
“Brilliant! Could you teach me? I’ve missed a lot…”
Soon, Daniel rushed home daily for their chats. Within a month, they were friends—so much in common. He dodged accident questions, claiming painful memories.
*”Once you’re out of that chair, you’ll understand,”* he typed.
Guilt gnawed at him. Sophie deserved better, and he’d stolen a normal life from her. Shame burned—lying to her—but would she have spoken to him otherwise? Eventually, they moved to Skype.
One day, she invited him to her birthday.
“Will your parents mind a grown man visiting?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about you,” Sophie said lightly. “Mum’s happy I’ve got a friend.”
***
Sophie hunched over her laptop for the fourth straight hour. The article wasn’t right—phrases clumsy, words off. She tweaked and re-tweaked.
“You tired? Fancy some tea?” Her mum peered in.
“Yeah,” Sophie murmured, eyes glued to the screen.
Enough. Time to rest, refresh. Then she’d check it again. Sipping tea, she mentally rearranged lines—then a Skype call chimed. James!
“Hey!” His voice crackled through.
“You’re early.” She smiled.
“What’s your biggest dream?” he asked suddenly.
“Can you grant any wish, or are there limits?” Her questions always stumped him.
“I’ll try. So, what is it?”
“To walk on clouds. Stroll under the stars at night.” She blurted it out. “Think you can manage that?”
A pause. “Easy. Give me two days,” he said—then vanished.
“Oddball,” she chuckled, returning to her work.
On her birthday, rain pattered until noon, then the clouds parted. *A good sign,* she thought.
The doorbell rang—too early for guests. Not that there *were* any, except James, if he even showed.
She wheeled out—and there he stood, more handsome in person. Her mum hovered nearby, wary.
Daniel had worried she’d recognize him—she’d been at the trial. But he looked different now.
“You’re lovely. Happy birthday.” He handed her red roses.
She buried her nose in them, blushing.
“So, ready?”
“For what?” she and Mum asked together.
“Cloud-walking.”
Mum gasped.
“Don’t fret. Bundle her up,” Daniel said.
“But her chair isn’t meant for rough ground—”
“I’ve handled worse. We won’t be long.” He wheeled Sophie toward the door.
“Be careful!” Mum called.
The lift descended smoothly. Outside, wide planks bridged the steps. Daniel navigated them carefully.
Sunlight made Sophie squint.
“Ready to run on clouds?” Without waiting, he pushed her through puddles reflecting the sky.
“I’m flying!” She threw her arms wide.
Daniel swerved around bumps effortlessly while Mum watched from the window, tears streaking—joy, sorrow, helplessness.
“Faster!” Sophie gripped the armrests, knuckles white.
“Enjoy it?” Daniel panted after they’d splashed through every puddle.
“Amazing! Thank you,” sheDaniel turned away, knowing this was the last time he would ever see her, and the rain began to fall again as if the sky itself mourned what could never be.
