In the deep, whispering jungle, the morning light filtered through the canopy, painting golden patterns on the forest floor. Nestled among the tall grass and tangled roots lay a newborn monkey, barely a day old. Her fur was still damp and her eyes wide with wonder — and fear.
A soft rustle came from above.
Her mother descended from the branches, graceful and strong, her belly still tender from birth. She hadn’t strayed far, only gone to gather food, but even that moment apart felt like forever to the little one.
The baby looked up, blinking. Then, as her mother reached down and gently slid her hands under the tiny body, the newborn began to cry — not from pain, but from fear. Everything was so new. So big. The sky. The wind. Even her mother’s touch, though loving, felt unfamiliar to her trembling heart.
A high-pitched, nervous cry escaped her lips.
“Eek… eek…!”
The mother paused, gazing into her daughter’s eyes with calm and warmth. She cradled the baby close to her chest and rocked gently, letting the newborn feel her heartbeat — strong, steady, familiar.
The jungle faded. The fear slowly melted into the rhythm of that beat. The cries grew softer, turning into tiny whimpers.
The mother monkey climbed back into the trees, holding her baby close with every careful step. She whispered in clicks and hums only they could understand — a promise that she would never leave again.
By the time they reached the canopy, the newborn had stopped crying. Her small fingers gripped a tuft of her mother’s fur, her heart no longer racing, but calm.
In that wild, untamed world, she had found her first safe place — in her mother’s arms.
