The little baby monkey sat alone on the wooden table, his tiny hands gripping the edge as if holding onto hope itself. His eyes, wide and full of sadness, scanned every corner of the room. A soft, pitiful moan escaped his mouth, a sound that carried both loneliness and longing. He was searching for one thing—his mom.
Every time a shadow passed, he lifted his head quickly, thinking it might be her returning. But each time, disappointment fell heavy on his tiny heart. His cries weren’t loud or angry, but low, trembling moans that told the world how much he missed the comfort of his mother’s arms.
The table felt too big, too cold, and too empty without her. He shuffled from one side to another, pressing his little face down, then looking up again as if she might appear any second. His tail twitched restlessly, and his body leaned forward as if ready to leap into her embrace if only she came.
A caretaker, watching nearby, felt tears sting their own eyes. They gently reached out, stroking the baby’s head, whispering soft words of comfort. Yet, the baby monkey only closed his eyes and moaned again—because no touch, no warmth, no kindness could replace the bond he was calling for.
At last, his tiny body grew tired from the endless searching. He curled himself into a ball on the table, his sobs slowing into soft whimpers. Though his mom was not there, his little heart refused to give up. Tomorrow, he would look again. Tomorrow, maybe she would hear his cries.
