A Walk Through the Clouds
A fine drizzle fell from the grey sky. Daniel tilted his face up, and his skin was instantly covered in a mist of rain. He breathed in deeply, savoring the damp air.
Behind him, the prison gates slammed shut with a metallic clang. Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, he walked briskly alongside the high brick wall…
***
Two and a half years earlier
Daniel drove through the city, trying to suppress the irritation and anger simmering inside him. Where had the love gone? Why had he and his wife stopped understanding each other? On the passenger seat, an abandoned phone rang, its melody cutting off abruptly.
“Finally,” Daniel muttered through gritted teeth.
But before he reached the next traffic light, the phone rang again.
“What now?” he snapped, grabbing it.
“Dan, I can’t do this anymore. You just walked out—we didn’t finish talking…”
Lena kept going, dredging up the same argument from earlier. Her words bored into his skull, clouding his thoughts and his vision. 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. It’s better we split than keep torturing each other.” He slammed the brakes, barely stopping at the red light. The phone slipped from his fingers, but he caught it just in time.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice trembled through the speaker. “Don’t leave, Daddy!”
“Emily? I’m not leaving, sweetheart. I’ll be home soon—”
A furious horn blared behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going!” Daniel snapped at the impatient driver.
He hit the gas and tossed the phone aside, glancing briefly at the passenger seat. In that split second, his car slammed into an unseen obstacle, and then another impact sent him lurching forward. The seatbelt bit into his chest as he was thrown against the wheel.
“Damn it!” He leaped out, heart pounding.
On the rain-slicked road, right in front of his bumper, a teenage girl lay motionless, face-down.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted at the gathering crowd before crouching beside her.
And just like that, his ordinary life—job, wife, daughter—was over.
Daniel got two years. He thought it was lenient. If someone had hit Emily, he’d have killed the driver himself.
Lena filed for divorce immediately, remarried within six months, and moved away with Emily. Now he understood—she’d had someone else long before the accident. That’s why she’d goaded him into fights.
***
Climbing to the fourth floor, Daniel rang his own doorbell, knowing no one would answer. Then he pressed the neighbor’s.
“Daniel? You’re back?” The elderly woman clasped her hands. “Your family moved, you know?”
“I know. Did they leave the keys?”
“Of course, one sec.” She shuffled inside and returned with a keyring. “Here. Knock if you need anything.”
The flat greeted him with oppressive silence. In Emily’s room, a 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, familiar scent, swallowing a sob.
He soaked in the bath for hours, then collapsed into bed. When he woke, the clock said 6:30 PM. He was starving.
No decent job would hire him with a prison record. He settled for a warehouse gig at a bakery nearby—it’d do for now.
Back in the day, he’d surfed the web, watched films, messaged mates. If he had a laptop, he could try freelancing. But Lena had taken his.
He’d always saved secretly—cars needed repairs, and Lena scrutinized every expense. She never knew about the stash. Digging into his hiding spot, he grinned. The cash was still there. Problem solved. The next day, he bought a cheap laptop.
Now, after work, he’d scroll through news, job postings, even social media. When he found Emily’s profile, his heart leaped. She’d grown so much. He didn’t message—no telling how Lena would react. But he checked every day, waiting for the right moment.
One thought nagged him: Find the girl he’d hit. She’d been fifteen then. Trial, prison, two years… she’d be eighteen now. Her name was seared into his memory, but her face? Blurry. Would he even recognize her?
He typed her details into the search bar. One photo seemed faintly familiar—a girl smiling, though her eyes stayed serious. Her profile was private.
Daniel sent a friend request, lying: *You look like my daughter. My ex took her 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—long hospital stay, couldn’t walk. Pure fiction, just to hook her. He wrote as “Dave,” using old photos in case her parents monitored her contacts.
Three days later, she accepted. One selfie showed the edge of a wheelchair. No doubt—it was her.
Sophia wrote matter-of-factly: *A car hit me too. I wasn’t as lucky—I can’t walk.* No hatred, no rage. Just, *I write articles online, make decent money.*
“Brilliant! Teach me?”
Soon, they messaged daily. Within a month, they were proper mates, sharing laughs, dodging heavy topics. When she asked about his accident, he deflected: *Bad memories.*
“You’ll understand if you ever leave that chair,” he typed, guilt gnawing at him.
Sophia deserved better. He hated lying, but she’d never talk to him otherwise. They switched to Skype.
Then she invited him to her birthday.
“Won’t your parents mind a bloke my age visiting?”
“Relax. I’ve told them about you,” she said lightly. “Mum’s glad I’ve got a friend.”
***
Sophia hunched over her laptop for the fourth straight hour. The article wasn’t right—clunky phrases, weak words. She tweaked, erased, rewrote.
“Tired? Fancy a cuppa?” Her mum peeked in.
“Sure.”
She leaned back, rubbing her eyes. A Skype call popped up—Dave! She answered, camera on.
“Hey!” His voice boomed through the speakers.
“Hi. You’re early.” She smiled.
“What’s your biggest dream? If you could have anything?”
“Can you really deliver *anything*?”
Her directness always threw him.
“I’ll try. So?”
“Walk on clouds. Stargaze at midnight.”
He paused. “Easy. Give me two days.”
Then he logged off.
“Odd bloke,” she chuckled, sipping tea.
On her birthday, morning rain gave way to afternoon sun. *A good sign,* she thought.
The doorbell rang. Too early for guests—not that any were coming, except maybe Dave.
Rolling into the hall, she nearly collided with him. In person, he was handsomer, younger. Her mum hovered, wary.
Daniel had worried she’d recognize him—she’d been in court. But he looked different now. She didn’t.
“Happy birthday, gorgeous.” He handed her red roses.
She buried her nose in them, flushing.
“Ready?”
“For what?” she and her mum said together.
“Your cloud walk.”
Her mum gasped.
“Don’t worry. Bundle her up.”
“But the chair isn’t—”
“I’ve got it. We won’t be long.” He wheeled her to the lift.
“Be careful!” her mum called.
Outside, Sophia squinted in the sudden light.
“Cloud time?”
He pushed her through puddles reflecting the sky.
“I’m flying!” She flung her arms wide.
Her mum watched from the window, tears streaking her face—joy, sorrow, all at once.
“Faster!” Sophia gripped the armrests, knuckles white.
“Good?” Daniel panted after they’d circled the block.
“Amazing. Thank you.”
“Don’t relax yet. One more surprise.”
“Mum, did you see? I walked on clouds!”
“Thank you, Dave,” her mum hugged him. “Haven’t seen her this happy in ages.”
Daniel flinched—he’d forgotten his alias. Guilt twisted his gut.
“Tea and cake, then?”
Later, he asked them to stay out of her room. Dusk settled as he called them in.
Sophia frowned. *What now?*
“Ready? One, two, three!” He flung the door open.
The ceiling glittered with stars—flickering, glowing. Her breath caught.
“How?”
He pointed out constellations until his neck ached. Her mum wept silently.
“My mate works in telly. Helped set it up. Not real, but close, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll get you a proper outdoor chair—stOne evening, as the first stars appeared in the real sky, Daniel finally told her the truth—and instead of pushing him away, Sophia reached for his hand.
