Under the soft shade of a bamboo grove, a tiny orphaned baby monkey lay wrapped in a small blanket. His name was Karo — rescued just hours ago after being found alone in the forest, clinging to a fallen branch beside the road. His fur was dirty, his belly empty, and his frightened eyes darted in every direction.
When the rescuers first picked him up, he didn’t fight or scream. He just stared — silent, exhausted, and lost. The warmth of their hands should have comforted him, but nothing could replace the heartbeat he once slept against. He had seen too much in his short life — his mother gone, the forest suddenly quiet and cold.
Now, in safety, Karo trembled under the towel as the caretaker gently fed him warm milk from a small syringe. He sipped weakly, his tiny lips moving slowly, unsure whether to trust. Each swallow was a victory, each blink a sign of fragile hope.
After feeding, he curled up tightly, his tail wrapped around his body — a small instinct to protect himself. Tears welled in his eyes as he made faint whimpering sounds, calling softly into the air as if still hoping his mother might answer.
The caretaker stroked his back gently, whispering, “You’re safe now, little one.” Her words were soft, but Karo’s pain ran deeper than words could reach.
As night fell, he finally closed his eyes, his breathing slow and uneven. He was safe — but healing would take time. Love, patience, and gentle care would help him remember what trust felt like.
And as the moonlight fell across his fragile body, the world seemed to whisper a quiet promise — that this time, little Karo would never be alone again.
