It started so small — just a sharp glance, a quick snatch of food, a push too rough for what should have been a playful game beneath the old fig tree. Two young monkeys, best friends since they were tiny, had always shared everything: naps curled in the same patch of sun, sweet fruit stolen together, adventures up the tallest branches.
But today, something was different. Maybe it was the hunger in the hot air, or the bigger monkey’s jealousy when Mama gave extra fruit to the smaller one. It doesn’t really matter now, because in a heartbeat, soft chatter turned into angry squeals.
One grabbed the fruit, the other snatched it back. A shove. A sharp, hurt cry. Tiny hands slapped fur. The troop fell silent for a moment, watching the argument unfold — something so silly, so avoidable, yet too big for their tiny hearts to handle.
Mothers called gently from the branches above, urging them to stop. An older cousin dropped down, trying to push them apart. But pride is loud when you’re small. One squealed louder, tail flicking, eyes wide with tears that said, “How could you?”
Then, just as suddenly, it was over. Both stood panting, fur fluffed, clutching the fruit neither wanted anymore. One sniffled. The other dropped the prize in the dirt.
They sat in silence, shoulders touching, too stubborn to look at each other. But after a heartbeat, the bigger one reached out, pressing a tiny hand on the other’s back. A soft squeak of apology. The other leaned in, pressing a warm forehead against a shaking shoulder.
No more fruit. No more noise. Just two tiny friends who understood — the fight should never have happened. And together, they would forget it ever did, safe again under the same old fig tree.
