A Walk Among the Clouds
A fine drizzle fell from the grey sky. Daniel tilted his face upward, and his skin was instantly covered in a mist of rain. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the damp air.
Behind him, the prison gates clanged shut with a metallic screech. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and strode quickly alongside the high brick wall.
***
Two and a half years earlier
Daniel drove through the city, trying to suppress his irritation and anger. Where had their love gone? Why had he and his wife stopped understanding each other? On the passenger seat, an abandoned phone trilled with the melody of a forgotten ringtone.
The ringing stopped abruptly.
“Better this way,” Daniel muttered through gritted teeth.
But before he could reach the next traffic light, the phone rang again.
“What now?” he snapped, picking it up.
“Danny, I can’t do this anymore. You ran away—we didn’t finish talking…”
Emily kept going, resuming the argument they’d started at home. Her words drilled into his skull, making it hard to focus on the road. Daniel wanted to shout, “Shut up!”
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Her voice rose.
“I know what you want to hear from me. Fine. It’s better we split than keep torturing each other.” He slammed the brakes, barely stopping in time as the light turned red. The phone slipped from his fingers, and he barely caught it.
“Daddy…” His daughter’s tearful voice crackled through the line. “Don’t leave, Daddy!”
“Hey, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere, don’t cry. I’ll be home soon—”
A sharp 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 for half a second at the passenger seat. That was when his car lurched into an unseen obstacle, then jolted forward as the vehicle behind smashed into it. The seatbelt bit into his chest as he was thrown against the steering wheel.
“Damn it!” He cursed, scrambling out.
On the rain-slicked asphalt, just in front of his car, a teenage girl lay face-down.
“Call an ambulance!” he shouted to the gathering crowd on the pavement as he knelt beside her.
That was the end of his ordinary life—the job, the wife, the daughter…
Daniel was sentenced to two years. He considered the punishment lenient. If someone had hit his little Rosie, he would’ve killed the driver with his bare hands.
His wife filed for divorce immediately, remarried six months later, and moved with Rosie to another town. Now he understood—she’d had a lover long before the accident. That was why she’d picked fights with him.
***
Daniel
He climbed to the fourth floor and rang the doorbell of his old flat, knowing no one would answer. Then he pressed the neighbor’s buzzer.
“Daniel? You’re back?” The elderly woman gasped, clasping her hands. “Your lot moved away, you know?”
“I know. Did they leave the keys?”
“Yes, hang on.” She shuffled inside, returning with a keyring. “Here. Drop by if you need anything, I’m always home.”
The flat greeted him with oppressive silence. In Rosie’s old room, a forgotten teddy bear sat on the sofa—the one he’d given her for her fifth birthday. He pressed it to his face, inhaling the faint scent of his daughter, stifling a groan.
He soaked in the bath for hours, then collapsed into bed. It felt like he’d slept for days, but the clock showed just past six in the evening when he woke, ravenous.
Nobody would hire him with a prison record. Daniel took a job as a loader at a bakery near his flat. It would do for now.
He used to watch films, check the news, and message friends online. If he had a computer, maybe he could try freelancing. But his wife had taken the laptop.
He’d earned decently before, stashing away savings. The car was always a money pit, and Emily nagged about frivolous spending. She hadn’t known about the secret fund. Daniel checked his hiding spot and grinned—the money was still there. Problem solved. The next day, he bought a cheap laptop.
Now, after work, he’d sit at the computer, scrolling newsfeeds, browsing job listings, even checking social media. When he found Rosie’s profile, he nearly jumped with joy. He pored over her photos, amazed at how much she’d grown.
He didn’t message her. He wasn’t sure how his ex-wife would react—she might cut off contact entirely. But every day, he’d check Rosie’s page, watching her life from afar. One day, he’d reach out. But not yet.
Then it hit him—he could try finding the girl he’d hit. She’d been fifteen then. The investigation, the trial, two years in prison… She’d be eighteen now. He’d never forget her name, but her face was a blur in his memory. Would he even recognize her?
He typed her details into the search bar and scrolled through the avatars. One looked vaguely familiar—a girl smiling, but her eyes sharp and serious. Her profile was private.
Daniel sent a friend request and a message. He lied, saying she reminded him of his daughter, who’d been taken far away after the divorce. What else could a thirty-two-year-old man say to an eighteen-year-old girl?
He needed common ground. So he spun a story—long hospital stays, learning to walk again. He wrote as “Dave” from a new account, seeding it with old photos. What if her parents monitored her messages?
He waited anxiously. She replied on the third day, accepting the request. In one of her selfies, he spotted the edge of a wheelchair. His doubts vanished—it was her.
Sophie wrote plainly—she’d been hit by a car, too, but had been less lucky. No walking. No hatred or anger toward him. She said she worked online, writing articles, making decent money.
“Brilliant! Could you teach me? I’ve missed so much…”
Now every evening, Daniel rushed home to his laptop. His heart leapt whenever Sophie messaged. Within a month, they were close friends, finding endless things in common. He dodged questions about the accident, brushing them off as painful memories.
“Once you’re out of that chair, you’ll understand,” he wrote.
Guilt gnawed at him. Sophie deserved better than the life he’d stolen. He hated lying, but she’d never talk to him otherwise. Soon, they switched to Skype.
One day, Sophie invited him to her birthday.
“Your parents won’t mind a grown man visiting?”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already told them about you,” she said lightly. “Mum’s glad I’ve got a friend.”
***
Sophie
She’d been at her desk for four hours straight. The article was done, but something felt off—clunky phrases, awkward wording. Sophie tweaked it again and again.
“Aren’t you tired? Fancy some tea?” Her mum peeked in.
“Yeah,” Sophie murmured, eyes glued to the screen.
Enough. She needed a break. Fresh eyes later, then send it. Sipping tea, she replayed sentences in her head when a Skype call startled her. Dave! Sophie answered, turning on the camera.
“Hey!” Daniel’s cheerful voice burst through the speakers.
“Hi. You’re early today.” She smiled.
“What’s your biggest dream? If you could have anything?”
“Can you actually make dreams come true, or are there limits?” she shot back, dead serious.
Her questions always threw him.
“I’ll try. So, what do you dream of?”
“Walking on clouds. Stargazing at night,” she blurted. “Can you manage that?”
Daniel paused.
“Easy. Just give me time. See you the day after tomorrow.” He hung up.
“Silly,” she chuckled, returning to her article.
On her birthday, rain poured all morning, the sky choked with heavy clouds. But by afternoon, the sun broke through. *A good sign,* Sophie thought.
The doorbell startled her. Too early for guests—not that there’d be any, except Dave, if he even showed.
She wheeled out, nearly colliding with Daniel. In person, he was handsomer, younger. Her mum hovered nearby, eyeing him warily.
Daniel had worried Sophie’s mum would recognize him—she’d been at the trial. But he looked different now. She didn’t know.
“You’re gorgeous. Happy birthday.” He handed her red roses.
She buried her nose in the blooms, blushing.
“Ready?”
“For what?” she and her mum asked in unison.
“A walk among the clouds.” Her mum gasped.
“Don’t worry. Just bundle her up.”
“But—her chair isn’t built for rough ground,” her mum fretted.
“It’s fine. I know what I’m doing. We won’t be long.”Daniel squeezed Sophie’s hand one last time, knowing that while the stars above them were only paper and light, the warmth between them was real.
