In the heart of a dense jungle, where the trees whispered secrets to the wind and the rivers sang their ancient songs, a little monkey named Kavi once swung joyfully from branch to branch. His world was full of adventure—chasing butterflies, leaping from towering trees, and playing with his troop. But one fateful day, a miscalculated jump changed everything.
Kavi fell hard, his tiny body hitting the forest floor with a force that stole his movement forever. His limbs, once so full of life, lay motionless. He could no longer climb, no longer chase the wind, no longer feel the thrill of freedom. The troop, uncertain of what to do, hesitated. At first, they stayed close, nudging him, offering food. But as days passed, the jungle called them forward, and one by one, they left.
Alone beneath the towering trees, Kavi’s world shrank. He watched as the sunlight filtered through the leaves, as the rain pattered gently on the ground around him. The once familiar sounds of his family grew distant, replaced by an aching silence. His eyes, wide and full of sorrow, glistened with silent tears—tears that no one would wipe away, tears that carried his longing, his pain, and his unspoken fear.
Yet, nature is not always unkind. One evening, as darkness crept in, an old sloth, moving slower than time itself, paused beside Kavi. With a quiet understanding, the sloth curled close, offering warmth, companionship, and a presence that said, You are not forgotten.
Though Kavi’s legs would never move again, his heart found a new rhythm—a quiet, enduring hope in the stillness of his world. His silent tears, though never spoken of, were no longer shed alone.
