The rice field stretched wide under the afternoon sun, golden and still. The only sound breaking the calm was the sharp, painful cry of a baby monkey.
Her name was Fifa.
She was no more than a few weeks old — tiny, trembling, and covered in dirt. Her soft fur was matted with dried mud and pieces of grass. Her face was soaked with tears. Her voice was hoarse from calling… crying… hoping her mother would return.
But she didn’t.
Fifa had wandered too far, or perhaps she’d been left behind by accident. Or maybe… her mother had simply rejected her. No one knew. What was clear now was the heartbreak.
She sat hunched at the edge of the rice stalks, crying sharply, rocking herself slightly, tiny arms hugging her chest as if trying to feel something warm again. Ants crawled near her legs, but she didn’t flinch. Her cries echoed across the quiet field, desperate and lonely.
A farmer, passing by with a basket, heard the sound. At first, he thought it was a bird. But as he drew closer, he stopped in shock.
“Oh no… little one…”
He dropped his tools and slowly approached. Fifa didn’t run. She was too tired. Too broken. She just looked up with wide, watery eyes — pleading for help without words.
Gently, the farmer scooped her into a cloth. She was weightless, like a feather soaked in sadness.
He brought her to a nearby rescue center, where volunteers rushed to clean her, warm her, and feed her drop by drop. She whimpered softly now, safe but still confused.
