The noise of the animal market was loud — the sounds of birds crying, cages rattling, and people shouting prices filled the dusty air. Among all the frightened animals, a tiny monkey sat quietly in a rusty cage. His fur was tangled, and his eyes, wide and brown, were filled with sadness.
He was called Lucky, though his life didn’t seem lucky at all. Someone had caught him from the forest and brought him here, far away from his mother and the trees he loved. Every day, hundreds of people passed by, pointing, laughing, or ignoring him. He didn’t understand their words, but he felt their indifference.
Lucky’s little hands gripped the cold bars as he looked around. A few other monkeys were nearby, older and louder, but Lucky was silent. He missed the soft leaves, the warmth of his mother’s chest, and the sweet fruits that once grew on tall branches. Now, he only had a small bowl of water and dry food that tasted like dust.
The sun was hot that afternoon, and Lucky grew weak. He closed his eyes, thinking of the forest — of birds singing and the wind moving gently through the trees. A tear rolled down his cheek.
But then, a voice broke through the crowd. It was soft, different from the shouting sellers. “Oh, you poor little one,” said a young woman holding a small basket of fruit. She knelt beside his cage and looked into his eyes. Lucky blinked slowly, unsure if this human was kind or cruel.
The woman spoke to the market owner, her face full of determination. After a few moments, she handed him money and opened the cage. Lucky didn’t move at first — he couldn’t believe it was real. But when she reached out her hand gently, he climbed onto her arm, trembling.
“Don’t worry, little Lucky,” she whispered. “You’re safe now.”
That day, Lucky left the noisy market and rode in her arms toward a new home — one filled with trees, care, and freedom. For the first time since being taken from the forest, the little monkey truly lived up to his name — Lucky.
