The tiny baby monkey wandered through the tall rice field, completely alone. His little body was cold and shaking, and he didn’t understand how he had become separated from his mother. The sky was turning gray, the sun disappearing behind evening clouds, and the field felt huge and frightening for someone so small.
His feet sank into the damp soil as he walked, crying softly with every step. He tried calling out, hoping his mother would answer—hoping she wasn’t too far away. But the wind carried his small cries into the distance, and no comforting voice came back.
The baby stopped near a small patch of flattened rice, sitting down as his legs trembled. His thin arms wrapped around his tiny belly, trying to hold in whatever warmth he had left. His eyes were wide with fear, his breath shaky and uneven. He didn’t know what else to do except cry—high, weak sounds that showed just how scared he really was.
A drop of dew landed on his cheek, cold as the evening breeze. He shook again, not knowing if the shiver came from the cold or from his loneliness. All he knew was that he needed his mom—her warmth, her milk, her safety.
Just when things felt hopeless, a sound rustled nearby. The little monkey froze, listening. Another rustle—gentle, familiar, soft. His ears perked, eyes wide, hope slowly returning.
From the tall grass, a human rescuer appeared, kneeling down carefully so as not to scare him. The baby monkey looked up, eyes pleading, body trembling. Without hesitation, gentle hands wrapped around his cold body, lifting him slowly and warmly.
For the first time that day, he stopped crying. He curled into the warmth, clinging tight, relieved not to be alone anymore.
He wasn’t safe yet—but he was no longer lost.
