In a quiet corner of the forest clearing, a tiny baby monkey sits alone under a patch of shade. Just hours ago, he had been curled safely against his mother’s warm belly, dozing off to the sound of her soft grooming and gentle heartbeat. But something changed — maybe she grew tired of his clingy cries, or maybe a new baby arrived needing her care more.
Without warning, she pushed him away, nudging him off her fur and leaving him sitting wide-eyed in the dirt. He squeaked softly, confused at first, trying to climb back up — but each time, she turned away, pushing him aside.
Now, left behind under the broad green leaves, the baby sniffles, his tiny shoulders shaking as he lets out quiet, broken cries. The trees around him seem too big, the calls of the troop too far.
But just beyond the bushes, another baby monkey hears his soft, sad sobs. This friend — not his brother by blood, but by bond — peeks through the branches, curious about the cries that don’t stop. He crawls closer, his tiny hands brushing the leaves aside until he sees the little one, curled up and trembling.
Without thinking twice, the friend squeaks gently and opens his tiny arms wide. The abandoned baby looks up, eyes wet and round, and with a tiny, shaky step, he crawls forward — then faster, until he buries his face in his friend’s small chest.
Together they cling to each other, wrapping tiny arms around thin shoulders, sharing warmth and comfort in a world that suddenly feels so big. The friend grooms his soft fur, brushing away the tears with careful hands.
In that simple moment, the baby monkey knows: even if Mama is gone, he is not alone. He has a friend — and that love is enough to calm his cries.
