A gray, cold morning settled over the empty roadside. Rain from the night before still clung to the leaves, and the air smelled of wet dust. On a large flat stone near a crumbling wall sat a baby monkey—tiny, shaking, and all alone.
His fur was damp, sticking to his thin skin. His belly was sunken, his lips dry. He had been left there—abandoned by someone who no longer wanted him. Too weak to walk far. Too small to survive alone.
The baby whimpered, soft at first… then cried.
But no one came.
He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked gently, trying to comfort himself. He didn’t understand where his mother went. He didn’t know why he was alone. All he knew was the ache in his belly and the cold wind on his face.
He saw other people walk past.
Some looked. None stopped.
Hunger burned deeper now. His tiny tongue peeked out, searching for milk that wasn’t there. He raised his hand weakly, hoping someone might give him something. Anything.
Still—no one.
Then, footsteps.
Slow, cautious ones. A woman knelt nearby, holding a bottle. She didn’t rush. She just sat, quiet and gentle.
The baby stared.
She set the bottle down near the stone and backed away.
The baby looked at her, then the milk.
He crawled toward it—slowly—eyes never leaving hers.
Warmth. Sweetness. Safety.
As the bottle emptied, he curled beside it. The woman came closer, wrapping him in a towel, holding him as if he mattered.
