In the quiet corner of the forest, a tiny baby monkey clung to a rough tree trunk. His small body trembled, his fur covered in dust, and his belly empty. His big, round eyes searched desperately for his mother, but she was nowhere to be seen.
His tiny hands gripped the tree tighter as he let out a heartbreaking cry. “Eeeeek! Eeeeek!” The sound echoed through the trees, a desperate call for help. His little face was wet with tears, and his stomach let out a soft growl—he was hungry.
The baby monkey whimpered and hugged the tree even tighter. His tiny fingers dug into the bark, as if it could comfort him. His cries became louder, filled with sorrow and fear. He wanted milk. He needed warmth. He needed his mother.
A soft rustling sound came from the bushes nearby. The baby monkey froze, his breath shaky. Was it his mother? His tiny heart pounded as he waited. But no, it was just a passing bird, fluttering away.
Tears rolled down his cheeks as he continued to cry, hoping someone would come. The morning sun shone down on him, but without his mother, the warmth felt cold. His tiny body felt weak, but he refused to let go of the tree.
Somewhere, in the vast forest, his mother must be looking for him. He just had to keep crying, keep calling—because he believed she would come. And until she did, he would cling to this tree, waiting for the love and milk he so desperately needed.
