Walking on Clouds
A light drizzle fell from the grey sky. Daniel turned his face upward, and his skin was instantly covered in a fine mist. He inhaled deeply, savoring the damp air. Behind him, the prison gates clanged shut with a sharp metallic sound. Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, he walked briskly along the high brick wall…
***
Two and a half years earlier
Daniel drove through the city, trying to suppress his irritation. Where had the love gone? Why had he and his wife stopped understanding one another? On the passenger seat, an abandoned phone buzzed insistently with an incoming call.
The ringing stopped suddenly.
“Finally,” Daniel muttered through clenched teeth.
But before he reached the next traffic light, the phone rang again.
“What now?” he snapped, grabbing the device.
“Dan, I can’t do this anymore. You ran off—we didn’t finish talking…”
Lisa kept talking, picking up the argument they’d started at home. Her words drilled into his brain, making it hard to concentrate on the road. He wanted to shout, *”Shut up!”*
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” his wife’s voice sharpened.
“I know what you want to hear. Fine—it’s better we split than keep making each other miserable.” He slammed the brakes, nearly running a red light. The phone slipped from his grip, but he caught it just in time.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice came through the speaker. “Don’t go, Daddy!”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be home soon—”
A horn blared behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m moving,” Daniel snapped at the impatient driver.
He pressed the accelerator and tossed the phone aside, glancing briefly at the passenger seat. In that split second, his car jolted as if hitting an unseen obstacle, and then another impact from behind thrust it forward. The seatbelt dug into his chest as he was thrown against the steering wheel.
“Damn it!” He leapt out, heart pounding.
On the rain-slicked tarmac, just in front of his wheels, lay a teenage girl, face down.
“Call an ambulance!” he yelled to the gathering crowd. Kneeling beside her, he knew his old life—his job, his marriage, his daughter—was over.
Daniel was sentenced to two years. He considered it lenient. If someone had hit *his* Emily, he would’ve killed the driver with his bare hands.
Lisa filed for divorce immediately, remarried within six months, and moved away with their daughter. Now he understood—she’d been seeing someone else long before the accident. That’s why she’d provoked him.
***
Daniel
Climbing to the fourth floor, he rang his old flat’s doorbell, knowing no one waited inside. Then he knocked on the neighbor’s door.
“Daniel? You’re back?” The elderly woman gasped. “Your family moved, you know?”
“I know. Did they leave keys?”
“Of course—one moment.” She shuffled inside, returning with a keychain. “Here. Come by anytime.”
The flat greeted him with oppressive silence. In Emily’s room, her forgotten teddy bear sat on the sofa—a gift from her fifth birthday. He pressed it to his face, inhaling the faint scent of his daughter, swallowing a groan.
He soaked in the bath for hours, then slept. It felt like days, but the clock showed 6:30 PM when he woke, ravenous.
No decent job would hire him with a prison record. He took a loader position at a nearby bakery. It would do for now.
Before, he’d watched films, read news, messaged friends online. If he had a laptop, maybe he could find remote work. But Lisa had taken his.
He’d saved secret cash over the years—Lisa never knew. After digging it out, relief washed over him. The next day, he bought a cheap laptop.
Now, after work, he scrolled job listings, news, and social media. Finding Emily’s profile nearly made him cheer. She’d grown so much. He didn’t message her—not yet. He’d wait until the time was right.
One thought consumed him: finding the girl he’d hit. She’d been fifteen. Trial, prison… She’d be eighteen now. He’d never forget her name, but her face had blurred in memory. Would he recognize her?
He searched online, scanning profiles until one stood out—serious eyes, a guarded smile. Her account was private.
He messaged her, requesting friendship. Lied, saying she resembled his estranged daughter. What else could a thirty-two-year-old man say to an eighteen-year-old girl?
He spun tales—recovery from an accident, relearning to walk—fabricating a persona as “Dave,” using old photos. If her parents monitored her contacts, better safe than sorry.
Three days later, she replied. Accepted.
A photo revealed a wheelchair’s armrest—confirmation.
*Sophie* wrote matter-of-factly: *A car hit me too. I wasn’t as lucky. I write articles online—good money.*
“Brilliant! Teach me?” he typed.
Soon, they messaged daily. Within a month, they were close. He dodged accident questions, blaming painful memories.
*You’d understand if you could leave that chair,* he wrote.
Guilt gnawed at him. Sophie deserved more than his lies. But would she talk to him otherwise?
When she invited him to her birthday, he hesitated.
“Will your parents mind an older man visiting?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about you.”
***
Sophie
She’d been editing for hours. The client’s piece just *wouldn’t* click.
“You tired? Tea?” Her mum peeked in.
“Yeah,” Sophie mumbled, eyes fixed on the screen.
A Skype call interrupted—Dave.
“Hi!” His cheerful voice filled the room.
“You’re early.” She smiled.
“What’s your biggest dream?”
“Can you grant *any* wish?” she teased, always keeping him on his toes.
“I’ll try. What is it?”
“Jumping on clouds. Walking under the stars.”
Dave paused.
“Easy. Give me two days.” He hung up.
*”Funny,”* she chuckled, returning to her draft.
On her birthday, morning rain gave way to afternoon sun—a good omen.
The doorbell rang early. Too soon for guests—not that many were coming. Just Dave, *if* he showed.
Rolling into the hall, she collided with him. In person, he was handsomer, younger. Her mum hovered, wary.
When he’d arrived, he’d braced for recognition—Sophie’s mum had attended the trial. But she didn’t know him now.
“You’re beautiful. Happy birthday.” He handed her red roses.
Blushing, she buried her nose in the petals.
“Ready?”
“For what?” she and her mum asked in unison.
“Cloud-walking.”
Her mum gasped.
“Don’t worry. Bundle her up,” Dave said.
“But her chair isn’t for outdoors—”
“I’ll manage. We won’t be long.” He wheeled her out.
The lift descended smoothly. Planks bridged the front steps. Outside, Sophie squinted in the sudden light.
“Ready to run on clouds?” Dave pushed her through puddles reflecting the sky.
*”I’m flying!”* She flung her arms wide.
Her mum watched from the window, wiping tears.
“Faster!” Sophie gripped the armrests, knuckles white.
“Like it?” Dave panted after circling every puddle.
“Amazing! Thank you.”
“Don’t relax. More surprises ahead.”
Back inside, Emily gushed, *”Mum, I ran on clouds!”*
“Thank you, Dave,” her mum hugged him. “Haven’t seen her this happy in ages.”
For a second, he forgot his alias. Shame twisted his gut.
“Tea and cake?” he deflected.
Afterward, he asked them to wait outside Sophie’s room. Twilight had fallen when he called them in.
“Ready? One, two, three!” He flung the door open.
Blackout curtains plunged the room into darkness—except for the ceiling, now a galaxy of twinkling stars. Sophie gasped.
“How?”
“A mate from telly helped. Not real, but close.”
They traced constellations until their necks ached. Her mum wept silently.
“We’ll get an outdoor chair—see the real sky next time.” Dave stood. “I’ve got work. Thanks for having me.”
*”Good man. True friend. Just… too old for you,”* her mum murmured later.
*”He’s just a friend.”* Sophie’s blush betrayed her.
The next day, she thanked him profusely online.
“Sophie, I’ll be offline a while.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. My ex finally let me see Emily.”
“You’ll come back?”
“Of course.” His voice cracked.
Lately, his feelingsDaniel knew he would never stop trying to make things right, even if it meant carrying the weight of his past forever.
