In the heart of the lush rainforest, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and the songs of birds echo through the trees, a small monkey sat alone on a moss-covered branch. His bright, inquisitive eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were clouded with a quiet sorrow. Unlike the lively chatter of his troop, his voice remained still, his spirit weighed down by an invisible burden.
The little monkey, named Kiko, had once been the liveliest of them all, swinging from vines and playing endless games with his companions. But lately, something had changed. The laughter of the others felt distant, their joyous antics a world apart from the emptiness growing in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain it, even to himself. He simply felt… different.
Kiko longed for joy—not the fleeting excitement of a game or the satisfaction of finding ripe fruit, but a deeper kind of happiness, one that filled the soul and made life feel whole. He watched the sunrise paint the sky in hues of gold and pink, yet the beauty barely touched him. The world, vibrant and alive, seemed muted in his eyes.
The other monkeys noticed his stillness but didn’t understand it. They thought he was shy or tired, offering him food or urging him to join their games. Kiko would smile faintly but stay where he was, longing for something he couldn’t name.
Perhaps what Kiko needed wasn’t something outside himself but the courage to share his silent sorrow. Maybe joy, he’d learn, could be rediscovered when sadness is no longer borne alone. Until then, the little monkey sat, his heart heavy but hopeful, yearning for the day when joy would find him again.
4o
