Under the pale glow of the moon, a poor baby monkey sits trembling on a cold branch, his tiny body shivering from the chill that seeps through the forest air. His wide, innocent eyes search the darkness, hoping to catch a glimpse of his mother’s familiar shape — the one who used to hold him close, wrapping him in warmth and safety. But tonight, she is nowhere to be found. The forest feels endlessly vast, the rustling leaves whispering sounds that make his little heart pound faster in fear.
Each passing moment deepens his loneliness. The gentle breeze that once lulled him to sleep now feels cruel, brushing against his frail fur. He curls into himself, trying to remember the comfort of his mother’s heartbeat, the soft rhythm that once meant everything was safe. But the warmth has vanished, leaving only the echo of memories that grow fainter as the night stretches on.
A few fireflies flicker nearby, casting fragile light over his tiny face. His eyes glisten with tears that reflect both the fear and longing in his heart. Every sound — the hoot of an owl, the crack of a twig — makes him twitch, but still, he doesn’t give up hope. Somewhere deep inside, the little monkey believes that his mother will return, that soon he’ll feel her arms around him again, protecting him from the cold.
As dawn begins to rise, painting the forest in soft gold, the baby monkey’s tired eyes blink open. His body still trembles, but within that fragile frame beats a heart full of resilience. Though alone and afraid, he endures — waiting, believing, and yearning for the gentle embrace that once made his world feel safe and whole.
