Ren had always wanted to see the sky move, just once.

But on this planet, the sky never changed. It stayed frozen, without so much as a single cloud. No one alive had ever seen the sky do anything at all.

Every morning, it was Ren’s job to give the sky report over Old Roku’s fence.

“Clear again today, Gramps.” “Is that so. Clear, huh.”

Old Roku never even glanced up. He was the kind of old man who kept his eyes on the ground when he walked. Not that looking up would have told him anything new.

So in this town, “when it clouds over” had become a handy phrase. “When it clouds over, sure.” “I’ll pay you back when it clouds over.” Which really meant: eventually, someday, never mind, not going to happen. A polite way of saying no.

The barbershop sign read: FREE HAIRCUTS ON CLOUDY DAYS. Rumor had it the barber himself looked at that sign more contentedly than anyone — as long as the sky stayed clear, he’d never have to give anything away for free.

Ren had one “when it clouds over” of his own.

“Gramps, I want to know what it’s like to get rained on.” “Don’t be stupid. When it clouds over, I’ll soak you to the bone.”

On this planet, that meant: not in your lifetime. Ren was starting to accept that was just how things were.

Then came that morning.

Ren looked over the fence and lost his voice. There, at the eastern edge of the sky, hung a white mass, drifting. As if the air, asleep for as long as anyone could remember, had just stirred.

“G-Gramps! It’s clouding over! It’s really clouding over!”

The whole town erupted. Not with joy — with panic. Every face had gone pale. The barber quietly flipped his sign around. Everyone who had ever said “when it clouds over” was suddenly scrambling for an exit.

Old Roku squinted at the sky for a while, then gave a short snort through his nose.

”…Fine. Come on, Ren.”

He grabbed Ren’s arm and hauled him outside, wearing the sour face of a man who kept his word whether he liked it or not. Ren’s heart pounded. He was finally going to get rained on — for the first time in his life.

The cloud drifted directly overhead. And quietly, it began to fall.

But it wasn’t rain.

It was small and white, fluttering down without any hurry at all. When it landed on his palm, it was only cold — not wet. Maybe it was too cold out here for rain to stay rain on the way down.

Watching this, Old Roku’s face lit up.

“Well, would you look at that. You’re not wet at all.”

He held up his own palm, bone dry, for Ren to see.

“The deal was I’d soak you with rain. You’re not soaked. So we’re not there yet. Not till it actually rains.”

The excuse was unbeatable. Even with the sky finally showing up for real, Old Roku’s “when it clouds over” had slipped one rung further out of reach. Triumphant, he turned to head back inside.

Ren crouched down and scooped up two handfuls of the white stuff piling on the ground. It was cold, and it packed tight in his fists. He pressed it firmly into Old Roku’s dry palm.

“Then hold onto this for me.”

In his grip, the white lump began, slowly, to melt.

“Next time it clouds over, I want it back.”

Old Roku stood there, mouth half open, staring at the cold thing melting in his hand with an expression he couldn’t quite explain. He never said “when it clouds over” again.

The white stuff kept falling, settling quietly on every rooftop in town, on the shoulders of grown-ups still scrambling for cover. And of everyone who watched this planet’s sky move for the very first time, only Ren was holding it — in his own two hands.