**A Walk Among the Clouds**
A fine drizzle fell from the gray sky. Daniel tilted his face upward, his skin instantly dusted with mist. He breathed in deep, savoring the damp air.
Behind him, the prison gates clanged shut with a metallic groan. Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, he strode briskly along the high brick wall.
***
**Two and a Half Years Earlier**
Daniel drove through the city, fighting to smother his irritation. Where had the love gone? Why couldn’t he and his wife understand each other anymore? On the passenger seat, his abandoned phone trilled insistently before falling silent.
“About time,” Daniel muttered through clenched teeth.
But before he reached the next traffic light, it rang again.
“What now?” he snapped, snatching it up.
“Danny, I can’t do this anymore. You walked out—we didn’t finish talking…”
Emma’s voice drilled into his skull, picking up right where their argument had left off. Her words tangled in his mind, making it impossible to think or focus on the road. He wanted to yell, *Just shut up!*
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Her voice sharpened.
“I know what you want to hear. 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—miraculously, he caught it.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice crackled through the line. “Don’t leave, Daddy!”
“Alice? Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. Don’t cry. I’ll be home soon—”
A horn blared behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m moving,” Daniel snarled at the impatient driver.
He hit the accelerator and tossed the phone aside, glancing at the passenger seat for just a second. That was when his car slammed into an unseen obstacle, followed by the crushing impact of another vehicle ramming into him. The seatbelt bit into his chest as he lurched forward onto the wheel.
“Damn it!” He scrambled out of the car.
On the rain-slicked pavement, a teenage girl lay motionless by his front wheels.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted to the gathering crowd before crouching beside her.
That moment marked the end of his old life—his job, his wife, his daughter.
He got two years. Light, by his measure. If someone had hit Alice, he’d have killed the driver with his bare hands.
Emma filed for divorce immediately, remarried within six months, and moved away with Alice. Now he understood—she’d had someone else long before the accident. The fights? Just her way of pushing him out.
***
**Daniel**
He climbed to the fourth floor and rang his own doorbell, knowing no one waited inside. Then he knocked next door.
“Daniel? You’re back?” His elderly neighbor gasped. “Your family—they moved, you know?”
“I know. Did they leave any keys?”
“Of course, hold on.” She shuffled inside, returning with a keyring. “Here. Come by if you need anything.”
The flat greeted him with hollow silence. In Alice’s room, her forgotten teddy bear sat on the bed—the one he’d given her on her fifth birthday. He pressed it to his face, inhaling the faint trace of her scent, swallowing a groan.
He soaked in the bath for hours before collapsing into bed. When he woke, the clock read half six. Starving, he scavenged the cupboards.
No one would hire an ex-con. He settled for a loading job at a bakery nearby. It would do for now.
He missed his old laptop—Emma had taken it. But he’d squirreled away savings, untouched by her prying eyes. The next day, he bought a cheap replacement.
Now, after work, he’d scour job listings, news, social media. When he found Alice’s profile, his heart leapt. She’d grown so much.
He didn’t message her—not yet. Emma might block him. But he checked daily, biding his time. One day, he’d ask to meet. Not now.
Then it struck him: *Find the girl.* She’d been fifteen at the time. Two years inside… she’d be eighteen now. He’d never forget her name, but her face blurred in his memory—mud-streaked when they’d lifted her onto the stretcher.
He typed her details into the search bar. One profile picture tugged at him—serious eyes beneath a polite smile. Her account was private.
He sent a friend request, spinning a lie about missing his own daughter. What else could a thirty-two-year-old man say to an eighteen-year-old girl?
He needed common ground. So he invented a hospital stay, fabricated injuries. Wove a whole persona as “Danny,” using old photos. What if her parents monitored her messages?
Three days later, she accepted.
One of her selfies caught his eye—the edge of a wheelchair. No doubt now: *It was her.*
Rosie wrote plainly about the accident, her paralysis, her online writing work. No hatred, no blame. Relief washed over him.
“Impressive! Could you teach me?”
Soon, they messaged daily, growing close. He avoided details about the crash, citing painful memories.
“You’ll walk again, you’ll understand,” he typed, guilt gnawing at him.
She deserved better than his lies. Yet without them, she’d never speak to him.
One day, she invited him to her birthday.
“Your parents won’t mind? A grown man visiting?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about you,” she replied breezily.
***
**Rosie**
She’d been staring at the screen for hours, editing tirelessly.
“Need a break? Tea?” Her mother hovered in the doorway.
“Mm-hmm.”
A Skype call interrupted her. *Danny.* She answered, activating the camera.
“Hey! Early today?” She grinned.
“What’s your biggest dream? If you could have anything?”
His question threw her. “Can you *actually* grant wishes?”
“I’ll try. What do you want?”
“To jump on clouds. To walk at night under the stars.” She laughed. “Can you manage that?”
A pause.
“Easy. Give me two days.” He disconnected.
*Odd man,* she thought, sipping her tea.
On her birthday, rain poured until noon, then cleared. A good omen.
The doorbell rang. Too early for guests—unless Danny had come.
She wheeled into the hall, colliding with him. In person, he looked kinder, younger. Her mother eyed him warily.
He’d worried she’d recognize him from the trial. But he’d changed. She didn’t.
“You’re beautiful. Happy birthday.” He handed her red roses.
She buried her face in them, blushing.
“Ready?”
“For what?” she and her mother asked in unison.
“Your cloud walk.”
Her mother gasped.
“Don’t worry. Bundle her up,” he said.
“But her chair isn’t meant for—”
“I’ve got this. We won’t be long.”
Her mother fretted as he wheeled Rosie toward the lift. Outside, makeshift ramps bridged the steps.
Sunlight made her squint.
“Ready to fly?” He pushed her through puddles reflecting the cloudy sky.
“I *am* flying!” she cried, arms wide.
Her mother watched from the window, torn between joy and grief.
“Faster!” Rosie gripped the armrests, knuckles white.
“Enjoy it?” he asked breathlessly afterward.
“Incredible! Thank you.”
“Don’t relax yet. Surprise number two.”
Back inside, her mother hugged him. “Thank you. I haven’t seen her this happy in years.”
*Danny.* He’d almost forgotten his alias.
“Tea and cake, if I’ve earned it?”
Later, he excused himself to “prepare something.” Dusk had fallen when he called them back.
Darkness shrouded her room—until he flicked the switch.
The ceiling erupted in stars, twinkling softly.
“How…?”
“A friend in TV helped. Not the real thing, but close, eh?”
They traced constellations until their necks ached. Her mother wept silently.
“I’ll get you a proper outdoor chair. Then we’ll stargaze for real.” He sighed. “Wish I could’ve brought you a real star.”
After he left, they lingered under the artificial sky.
“Sweetheart, he’s lovely… but too old for you,” her mother whispered.
“He’s just a friend.” Rosie’s blush betrayed her.
The next day, she gushed her gratitude over Skype.
“Rosie, I’ll be away for a while,” he interrupted.
“Going somewhere?”
“My ex said I can see Alice. I leave tomorrow.”
“But you’ll come back?”
“Of course. I just don’t know when.”
“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.
“Me too.”
His voice cracked. Lately, hisHe knew that someday he’d have to tell her the truth, but for now, he would keep loving her from a distance, honoring the fragile happiness they’d found in each other’s broken pieces.
