Little Jasmine had always been a firecracker—bold, curious, and full of energy. But today, something felt different. Her mom was busy grooming another monkey nearby, and Jasmine didn’t like it. Not one bit.
She sat quietly for a moment, watching from the corner of her eye.
Then it started.
First came the low grumble. Then a high-pitched whine. And before anyone could stop it—the full tantrum exploded.
Jasmine threw herself dramatically onto the floor, letting out loud, screechy cries. She rolled over, kicked her feet, and thumped her little fists against the ground. Her fur ruffled and her face turned red with frustration.
“MOM! LOOK AT ME!” her body language screamed.
She didn’t want toys. She didn’t want food.
She just wanted her mom.
Tears welled up in her big brown eyes as she turned her head to peek at her mom again—hoping, begging, needing her to come.
And finally, her mom did.
With calm, gentle steps, she walked over, leaned down, and scooped Jasmine into her arms. The crying slowed almost instantly. Jasmine buried her face into her mom’s chest, sniffling softly now, her little body still shaking from the storm.
Her mom didn’t scold. She didn’t speak. She just held her close, grooming Jasmine’s fur slowly—reminding her with every soft touch:
“I’m here. I love you. You’re safe.”
That was all Jasmine wanted.
And just like that, the tantrum faded into soft sighs and sleepy blinks.
