In a small town where the streets curled like sleepy cat tails, there lived a child named Liora. Liora had a quiet laugh and curious eyes that always looked a little higher than everyone else’s, as if she was searching for something that floated just above the rooftops. Every night, when the lamps were lit and the crickets began to sing, Liora would stand at her window and stare up at the sky.

The sky above Liora’s town was busy and beautiful. In the mornings it was pink and gold, and in the afternoons it was bright and blue. But at night, it turned into a deep velvet blanket, sprinkled with stars that looked like tiny holes poked by a very tiny fork. Liora loved the stars, but even more than that, she loved the clouds.

She loved the way the clouds changed shape. Sometimes they looked like elephants walking slowly across the sky. Other times they looked like ships sailing to invisible islands. Liora would point and whisper, “Look, that one is a dragon. That one is a castle. That one is a giant jellyfish.” But the clouds never stayed the same. They always drifted away.

One evening, after a long day of running and reading and drawing strange birds with five wings, Liora felt very tired. Her feet were sore, and her thoughts felt heavy, like they were made of wet sand. She brushed her teeth, hugged her parents goodnight, and shuffled into her room, carrying her favorite pillow under one arm as if it were a pet.

The moon was already shining, silver and soft, making a pool of light on the wooden floor. Liora went to the window, as she always did, to say goodnight to the sky. But when she pressed her nose to the glass, she saw something that made her blink once, twice, three times.

There, just above the roof of the house across the street, floated a cloud that did not look like any other cloud at all. It was not streaky or thin. It was round and puffy, with edges that curled like whipped cream. It glowed very faintly, as if it held a little bit of sunrise inside it, even though it was the middle of the night.

The strange thing was that all the other clouds had drifted away. The sky was clear and open, except for this one little cloud. It hung in the air, not moving, not melting, just waiting. It seemed to be looking right at Liora.

Liora’s heart gave a small hop inside her chest. She whispered, “Hello,” even though she knew clouds did not usually say hello back. But the cloud did something she had never seen a cloud do. It dipped down a tiny bit, like a shy nod.

Liora stepped back from the window. Her room was quiet. The clock ticked softly. Her toys sat very still on the shelves. She went back to the window and pressed her hand against the glass. The cloud inched closer, slow and careful, until it was almost level with her window ledge.

She could see now that the cloud was not just white. It had shades of pale blue and lavender, and little sparkles, like frost catching the light. It looked soft enough to sleep on. It looked warm and cool at the same time, like a pillow left in the shade.

Without quite knowing why, Liora unlatched the window. The night air slipped into her room, gentle and a little chilly, carrying the smell of grass and faraway rain. The cloud bobbed, as if it were excited. It floated even closer, until the edge of it brushed the windowsill.

“Are you…” Liora began, then stopped because it felt silly to talk to a cloud. But the cloud seemed to be listening. It rose a little, then lowered again, almost like it was bowing.

Very quietly, so she would not wake anyone else, Liora whispered, “Are you waiting for me?”

The cloud shivered with a tiny ring of light that rippled along its edges. A soft sound followed, like the sigh of a feather landing on a blanket. It sounded like yes.

Liora’s fingers tingled. Her mind filled with pictures of stories she had heard about flying carpets and magic birds and staircases made of moonbeams. She looked at her bed, all neat and still. Then she looked back at the cloud, glowing faintly in the dark.

“Just for a moment,” she told herself. “Just to see.”

She climbed up onto the windowsill, her heart thumping like a small drum. The cloud edged closer, as if it was worried she might fall. It pushed itself against the sill, forming a soft white step. Liora reached out one foot and pressed it gently into the cloud.

It did not feel like water, and it did not feel like cotton. It felt like cool breath and warm milk and fresh snow all mixed together. It held her weight, sinking only a little, like a well stuffed mattress. Liora let out a tiny laugh of surprise.

Slowly, she brought her other foot onto the cloud. She stood up, wobbling, her hands gripping the sides of the window frame. The cloud rose a little higher, lifting her until she had to duck so she would not bump her head on the top of the window.

“Careful,” she whispered, though she was not sure if she meant the cloud or herself. The cloud seemed to understand. It moved gently, slowly floating backward, away from the house. Liora clutched her pillow to her chest and turned to look at her room.

Her lamp, shaped like a small owl, glowed softly on her bedside table. Her blanket lay folded back, waiting. Her favorite stuffed fox sat at the foot of the bed, watching with glassy eyes that suddenly looked a little sad. Liora raised her hand and waved.

“I will be back before morning,” she promised in a whisper. “I think.”

The cloud drifted higher, and the window slipped down and closed behind her with a quiet click. Liora was standing on a floating cloud, outside her house, in the middle of the night. The town below her looked smaller already. The streetlights shone like little puddles of gold.

The cloud turned, like a slow spinning top, and began to glide across the sky. Liora dropped to her knees and then sat, crossing her legs so she would not tumble off. The cloud seemed to grow a small, raised edge around where she sat, shaping itself into a nest that held her safely.

“Thank you,” Liora said, her voice hushed with wonder. The cloud made that soft feather sound again, a kind of friendly sigh. It carried her over the rooftops, past chimneys and antennas and sleeping birds tucked under their wings.

They rose higher, until Liora could see the whole town spread out beneath her. The river was a dark ribbon, the bridge a silver line. The park was a square of shadow, with the white twist of the slide shining faintly in the moonlight. Liora hugged her pillow tighter and leaned back into the soft curve of the cloud.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes half closed against the wind. The cloud answered with shapes. A little puff rose in front of her, rounding and stretching until it looked like a tiny person holding out its hands. Then it melted and swirled into the shape of a small heart.

Liora watched, her mouth open. “You are for me,” she said slowly. “You came for me.”

The cloud brightened, pleased. It turned its front, if a cloud could have a front, toward the distant hills. The stars above them wheeled and blinked, as if they were watching the strange pair float by.

They drifted out of town, over soft fields where night animals rustled through the grass. Liora saw the faint shine of a fox’s eyes looking up, and the shadow of a deer lifting its head. Farther away, she saw a pond that caught the moonlight and held it, like a mirror someone had forgotten on the ground.

The cloud began to climb higher, toward the place where the air was thin and cool and the world below turned into a patchwork of darkness and silver. Liora’s ears felt funny, but the cloud wrapped a little more of itself around her shoulders, like a shawl, and she felt warm again.

Soon they reached the kingdom of the clouds. There were clouds shaped like great sleeping whales, and clouds like tiny feathers, and clouds that looked like long roads stretched across the sky. They all glowed softly in the moonlight, making the night feel less dark and more like a secret room.

Some of the clouds drifted closer to look at Liora. One was a long, flat cloud with a face that looked like a kind old woman. Another was tall and thin, like a tower. They murmured to each other in puffs and swirls.

“Is that a child?” one of them whispered in a voice like a distant breeze.

“It has been a long time since a child came up this high,” another sighed.

The little cloud that carried Liora puffed itself up proudly. It zipped in a small circle, making a ring of mist around them, as if it were showing off. Liora giggled. She waved shyly at the other clouds.

“Hello,” she said. “I am Liora.”

The old woman cloud dipped in a soft curtsy. “Welcome, Liora,” she said in a voice that made the air around them vibrate. “You are riding on a Waiting Cloud.”

“A Waiting Cloud?” Liora repeated, feeling the words on her tongue like a new flavor.

“Yes,” said the tower cloud, who had a voice like faraway thunder that did not scare anyone. “Some clouds are storm clouds. Some are rain clouds. Some are lazy clouds that just like to drift. And some clouds are Waiting Clouds. They wait for the one person in all the world that they belong to.”

Liora turned and looked down at the cloud beneath her. It rippled, shy and happy at the same time. “You were waiting for me?” she asked softly.

The cloud rose and fell in a small nod. The old woman cloud smiled, her edges crinkling like kind eyes. “Sometimes it takes many, many years,” she said. “Sometimes it takes only a few. But every Waiting Cloud knows the shape of the person it is meant for. They can feel them, like a tug on a string, even from very far away.”

Liora thought of all the times she had stared at the sky, watching the clouds float by. She thought of how her eyes always felt pulled upward, as if something was calling her. “I think I felt you,” she whispered.

The Waiting Cloud made a soft humming sound, like a lullaby with no words. It spread a little wider, giving Liora more room to stretch her legs. The other clouds moved aside, making a path.

“Where are we going?” Liora asked, a little yawn sneaking into her voice.

“To the Edge of Above,” replied the tower cloud. “That is where Waiting Clouds take their person for the first time.”

“The Edge of Above,” Liora repeated. The name made her feel a tickle in her stomach, like when she stood at the top of the tallest slide in the park. It sounded a little scary and a little wonderful.

They floated on. The air grew clearer, as if someone had wiped it with a soft cloth. The stars were closer now, bright and sharp. Liora could see that some of them were not just dots. They had faint colors. One was pale green, another a blush of pink, another a deep blue that made her think of the bottom of the sea.

The Waiting Cloud slowed and then came to a gentle stop. In front of them, the sky seemed to thin, like the skin on warm milk. Beyond it, Liora thought she could see something moving, something like lights and like dreams and like songs all at once.

“This is the Edge of Above,” said the old woman cloud. “From here, you can see the places that are not quite here and not quite somewhere else.”

Liora sat up straighter, her pillow hugged against her chest. “Can we go through?” she asked.

The Waiting Cloud trembled, as if thinking very hard. Then it shook its puffy head a little. The old woman cloud smiled kindly. “Not yet, child. Not while your feet still remember the feel of the ground. The Edge of Above is only for looking, the first time.”

Liora nodded slowly. She did not understand everything, but she felt that the clouds were keeping her safe. She peered ahead, squinting slightly. Shapes swirled beyond the thin sky, shapes that were not clouds and not stars. She saw a staircase that turned into a river, and a boat that became a bird, and doors that opened into forests that grew out of the air.

Her eyes grew heavy as she watched. The more she tried to look, the sleepier she felt, as if the pictures were made of drowsiness. The Waiting Cloud sensed it. It curled more snugly around her, like a nest closing gently.

“You brought me here just to look?” Liora murmured, her voice soft and slow.

“Just to know,” replied the tower cloud. “To know that there is more sky than the sky you see from your window.”

“And to know,” said the old woman cloud, “that you are not only a child of the ground. You are also a child of the above.”

The Waiting Cloud hummed again, a little deeper this time, and Liora felt the sound in her bones. Her eyelids fluttered. She wanted to ask more questions. She wanted to know how long the cloud had waited, and how it had found her, and if it would come again. But her words tangled together like sleepy yarn.

The old woman cloud drifted closer and bent over Liora. A gentle mist settled on Liora’s forehead, cool and sweet. “Sleep,” the cloud whispered. “We will carry you.”

Liora’s head tipped to the side, resting on her pillow. The Waiting Cloud straightened itself and began to glide backward, away from the Edge of Above. The strange shapes on the other side of the thin sky faded like smoke. The stars softened. The air grew a little thicker, a little warmer.

The other clouds watched in silence as the Waiting Cloud carried its sleeping child back through the kingdom of the sky. Some of them whispered to each other.

“Will she remember?” asked a small cloud that looked like a rabbit.

“She will remember enough,” said the tower cloud. “Enough to look up, even when she is busy, and to feel that the sky is also her roof.”

“And the Waiting Cloud?” asked the rabbit cloud.

“It will stay with her,” replied the old woman cloud. “As long as she needs it. Perhaps longer.”

The Waiting Cloud moved carefully, keeping its surface as smooth as it could so that Liora would not wake. It slid past the great whale clouds and the long feather clouds, past a flock of tiny clouds that chased each other like playful birds.

Below, the world turned slowly. Night thinned at the edges, and a hint of gray began to touch the horizon. The town where Liora lived came into view, curled and quiet, still wrapped in sleep.

The Waiting Cloud dipped lower, feeling the pull of the child’s home. It glided over the river, which now looked like a strip of sleepy glass. It passed the park, where the swings hung motionless and the slide shone faintly with dew. It hovered above Liora’s street, counting the roofs until it found the one it knew.

Liora’s window was closed, but the cloud did not mind. It squeezed itself thin and soft, slipping through the tiny cracks around the frame like breath, carrying Liora gently with it. Inside her room, the air stirred, and the curtains fluttered as if a ghost had passed by, though it was only a very careful cloud.

The Waiting Cloud floated to the side of Liora’s bed. It rose a little, and with a motion as tender as a parent’s hands, it nudged Liora onto the mattress. She rolled over, hugging her pillow, still fast asleep. A tiny smile touched the corner of her mouth, as if she were dreaming of ladders made of stars.

The cloud pulled her blanket up around her shoulders. It tucked it under her chin, smoothing out the wrinkles with edges that were as soft as sighs. For a moment, it hovered above her, its faint glow lighting her face with pale silver.

Liora murmured something in her sleep. It sounded like “stay.”

The Waiting Cloud shivered. It did not speak with words, but if it could have, it might have said, “I will.”

It rose slowly to the ceiling and settled there, spreading out thin and wide, becoming just a pale patch of shadow that looked a little like a normal bit of night. If anyone had walked into the room and looked up, they might have seen only a smudge and thought nothing of it.

Outside, the first birds began to sing. The sky turned from black to deep blue, then to gray, then to soft pink. The sun yawned and stretched its rays across the town. People woke up, rubbed their eyes, and began their day.

Liora’s parents knocked on her door and peeked in. They saw her sleeping soundly, her hair spilled over the pillow, her hand still resting on the blanket as if she had just pulled it up. They smiled at each other and tiptoed away.

When the morning light finally touched Liora’s face, she blinked and opened her eyes. For a moment she did not know where she was. She had the strange feeling that her bed was moving, that the ceiling was very far away, and that stars were hanging just above her nose.

Then she saw her room, and her owl lamp, and her stuffed fox, and the posters on her wall. She sat up slowly, her heart beating with a soft, confused thump. Had it all been a dream?

She pressed her hand to the blanket. It felt normal. She looked at her pillow. It looked the same. But when she lifted her hand, she saw a tiny sparkle on her skin, like a single grain of frozen light. It melted as she watched, leaving only warmth behind.

Liora’s gaze drifted up to the ceiling. The pale patch of shadow was gone. The ceiling looked as it always did. She swung her legs out of bed and padded to the window, her toes cold on the floor.

Outside, the sky was bright and blue, with a few small clouds drifting lazily. None of them looked like Waiting Clouds. None of them seemed to be watching her. Still, Liora pressed her forehead to the glass and whispered, “Thank you.”

The wind outside stirred, making the leaves in the street trees tremble. One small cloud, very far away, paused in its drifting and turned, just a little, as if listening. Then it went back to floating, as if it had all the time in the world.

All that day, Liora felt a lightness inside her, like a balloon that had been tied to her heart. She helped with breakfast, she played in the yard, she drew pictures. But every now and then she would stop and look up, as if she were expecting to see something.

She drew a picture of a cloud with eyes and a small smile. Under it, she drew herself, standing on the cloud and holding a pillow. She added stars and a strange, thin place in the sky with swirls behind it. When she showed it to her parents, they said, “What a beautiful dream you had.”

Liora opened her mouth to say, “It was not only a dream.” But then she closed it again. Some things did not need to be explained. Some things were like secret doors that only opened when you were very quiet inside.

That night, Liora brushed her teeth a little faster. She hugged her parents a little tighter. When she went to her room, she closed the door softly and stood for a long moment, just listening to the hush.

She walked to the window and looked out. The sky was clear. The moon was a thin silver smile. The stars winked like sleepy eyes. There were no clouds at all.

Liora felt a tiny pinch of disappointment. She climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Her stuffed fox watched her from its place. She reached out and gave it a small pat on the head.

“It is all right,” she whispered to herself. “Maybe Waiting Clouds only come once.”

She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. The room was very still. Time passed quietly, the way it does when everyone is asleep and the world is breathing gently. Then, just as Liora’s breathing began to deepen, a soft, almost invisible puff of air slipped through the crack of the window.

It rose to the ceiling, swirling itself into a thin, flat shape. It glowed for a moment, then dimmed, becoming a shadow that was almost not there at all. From this place on the ceiling, where it could see the whole room, the Waiting Cloud watched.

It watched Liora’s face relax into sleep. It watched the slow rise and fall of the blanket with each breath. It listened to the tiny sounds of dreams beginning.

Very, very quietly, so softly that it did not wake her, the cloud let a single, small ribbon of mist drift down. It touched Liora’s forehead like a kiss. In her dreams, she found herself stepping once more onto a soft white surface that held her like hands.

This time, when the cloud carried her, it did not need to climb all the way to the Edge of Above. It only needed to rise high enough for Liora to remember the feeling of floating, of being between the stars and the roofs, between the world she knew and the one she had only begun to see.

They drifted over her town again, though her body lay safe and still in her bed. In her dream, she leaned back and let the cool, gentle air brush her cheeks. The Waiting Cloud hummed its wordless song, and the night wrapped around them like a soft curtain.

Far below, a dog barked once, then settled. A streetlight flickered and went out. A moth tapped against a window somewhere, then fluttered away. The world turned slowly, and the sky watched with quiet eyes.

The Waiting Cloud knew that there would be other nights. Nights when Liora felt lonely, or worried, or too full of thoughts to sleep. On those nights, it would be there, pressed against the ceiling like a secret, ready to catch her dreams and carry them for a little while.

It also knew that one day, Liora would grow taller. Her feet would grow bigger. Her hands would grow stronger. She might stop looking out of the window every night. She might have other things to think about, other places to go. The pull between her and the cloud might grow lighter.

But for now, she was still small enough to fit in the nest of its softness. Still young enough to remember the shapes it made, the sounds it whispered. Still ready to believe that the sky could lean down and say, “I have been waiting for you.”

So the cloud stayed. It waited during the days, thin and hidden where no one would notice. It watched during the nights, thickening and softening when the moon rose. It drifted in her dreams, carrying her to the tops of invisible towers and along the edges of quiet, shining seas made of starlight.

And Liora, even when she was busy, even when she forgot to stare out of the window, carried a piece of sky inside her. It was the feeling she had when the wind touched her face just right, or when she lay in the grass and watched the clouds turn into dragons and castles and jellyfish.

Whenever she felt that lightness in her chest, she would pause and look up. Sometimes she would see nothing but blue. Sometimes she would see a single, small cloud, glowing just a little more than the others, hanging very still as if it were waiting.

On those days, she would smile a quiet smile and whisper, “I see you.”

And somewhere above, or maybe very close, the Waiting Cloud would tremble with a joy as soft as mist, knowing that it had found the child it was meant for, and that, for as long as the sky stretched over the world, it would never have to wait alone again.