The sun was low in the afternoon sky when a tiny baby monkey found himself alone on a bamboo bed behind the house. The yard was wide, full of shadows and wind sounds brushing through leaves, yet the little monkey felt no comfort — only loneliness. He sat in the middle of the bamboo slats, legs small and shaky, gripping the edges as if afraid to fall. His eyes searched everywhere, hoping to see his mom or caregiver return.
At first, he stayed quiet, trying to be brave. He looked out toward the gate, tilted his head when birds chirped, and sniffed the air as if familiar scent would guide him. But no footsteps came, no kind voice called his name. Minutes stretched long for a baby who only understood warmth and touch. His tiny fingers tapped the bamboo unevenly, a nervous habit, and soon his lips quivered.
Then came the soft cry — a heartbreakingly gentle sound, like he was whispering his sadness into the world. It grew louder the longer he waited. He shifted his little body, trying to crawl toward the edge, hoping maybe he could climb down and search for someone. But he hesitated, frightened by the height and the unknown below. He hugged himself, tail curled tight around his feet, rocking slowly as tears filled his eyes.
A butterfly landed nearby, fluttering softly — the only company he had. He reached out weakly, but even that couldn’t distract him from his loneliness. Another cry escaped, this time sharper, full of longing. He needed arms, milk, comfort — someone.
Finally, footsteps sounded. The caregiver opened the back door. The baby immediately raised his head, hope lighting his face. He crawled toward them as fast as his little body allowed, crying louder for attention.
He was lifted gently — fear replaced with warmth. In that embrace, he wasn’t lonely anymore.
