The afternoon rain had just ended, leaving the rice field glistening with silver droplets. Amid the muddy stalks and soft puddles, two tiny baby monkeys huddled together — trembling, soaked from head to toe. Their small bodies shivered as they pressed close, trying to keep each other warm.
They had wandered too far from where their mother once left them, searching for comfort, for milk, for love. Now, their fur was heavy with rainwater, and their little stomachs growled painfully. The taller one, weak but determined, wrapped an arm around the smaller one, shielding her from the breeze.
Their tiny faces looked up whenever they heard a sound, hoping it was someone coming to help. But all they heard was the rustle of the rice and the distant croak of frogs. The sky was turning pale again as the sun peeked out — yet warmth didn’t come soon enough.
Then, in the distance, a gentle voice called out. A farmer walking by noticed them — two helpless, trembling figures in the muddy water. He hurried closer, kneeling down carefully so as not to frighten them. “Oh, poor little ones,” he whispered.
The babies looked up, their eyes full of hope and exhaustion. When he reached out a hand, they didn’t run — they were too tired. One of them let out a faint cry, “Eee… eee…” as if begging for milk.
The man scooped them up gently, wrapping them in his scarf to dry their tiny bodies. He carried them home, where a warm towel and a bottle of milk waited.
As the first drops touched their lips, the babies relaxed, eyes half-closing in relief.
No longer alone in the wet field — they were finally safe, loved, and warm again.
