Clara chased a butterfly through the garden. She stopped when she saw something tiny hovering above the flowerbed.
It was a small fluffy cloud. Clara held out her hand and the cloud dropped a cool raindrop right onto her palm.
The cloud drifted closer. Clara giggled and decided it wanted to be her friend.
At the playground, the wind whistled and tugged the cloud toward the oak tree. Clara ran after it, shouting, 'Wait!'
The cloud drifted back and landed softly on the swing seat like a fluffy pillow. She patted the spot beside her.
Clara waved at the empty sky, but the cloud stayed away. She tapped her foot. The room felt too quiet.
Then a soft boop sounded. The cloud peeked around the doorframe, shaped like a grinning moon.
She reached out, and the cloud's surface shimmered like soap bubbles. She knew it would always find its way back.
Every morning after that, Clara waved hello from her bedroom window. The cloud always came back, sometimes shaped like a bunny, sometimes like a boat.
They played together in the garden, and the cloud cast a tiny shifting shadow on her drawings.
Clara knew her friend would always come back. That felt wonderful.
And every morning, she waved hello to the sky, and the sky waved back.