The poor hungry baby monkey sat outside, waiting quietly for milk, its small body curled against the rough ground. The shade beneath the tree offered little comfort. Dust clung to its thin fur, and its belly pressed inward with emptiness. Every few moments, the baby lifted its head, ears twitching, eyes searching the space around it with tired hope.
It had been waiting for a long time.
The baby’s eyes were big and dull with hunger, no longer bright with playfulness. Its mouth opened slightly now and then, releasing a soft, weak cry—barely louder than a breath. It was not a loud call anymore. Hunger had stolen the strength from its voice. Still, it tried, because calling was all it knew how to do.
The ground outside felt cold compared to the warmth it remembered.
Not long ago, it had been pressed against its mother’s chest, drinking milk, feeling safe and full. That memory lingered like a distant dream. Now there was only waiting. Waiting and listening. Waiting and hoping.
The baby hugged itself, tiny arms wrapped around its own body as if trying to replace the warmth it lacked. Its legs trembled slightly when it tried to stand, so it sat back down again, exhausted. Hunger made everything heavier—its head, its limbs, even its breathing.
A breeze passed by, lifting dry leaves and brushing against the baby’s face. It flinched, mistaking the movement for something else. Hope flickered, then faded. No one came.
The baby’s stomach made a small sound. It responded with another cry, a little louder this time, desperation pushing the sound out. The cry echoed weakly, swallowed by the open space. The world did not answer right away.
Nearby, life continued.
Insects moved through the grass. Birds hopped and flew. The sun climbed higher, making the air warmer, but the baby felt colder inside. Hunger does that—it drains warmth, leaving a hollow ache behind.
The baby monkey lowered its head and stared at the ground. Its eyes watered, not fully understanding why its body felt this way. It did not know about time or distance or reasons. It only knew one thing: it needed milk. It needed its mother.
It waited.
Minutes passed slowly. Each moment stretched longer than the last. The baby shifted slightly, trying to stay awake. Its head nodded forward, then snapped back up. Sleep tried to take over, but hunger kept pulling it back into discomfort.
Another cry escaped—short, broken, almost apologetic.
“I’m still here,” it seemed to say. “I’m still waiting.”
The baby’s fingers picked at the dirt absentmindedly. They were weak now, movements slow and unsure. Its tail lay still behind it, no longer curling with curiosity. Everything about the baby spoke of need.
Then—something changed.
A familiar sound drifted through the air. Soft movement. A shape passing between trees. The baby’s ears perked up instantly. Its head lifted with sudden effort, eyes widening just a little. Hope sparked again, fragile but bright.
It called out once more, gathering every bit of strength it had left.
This time, the sound was answered.
A figure rushed closer—its mother. Her steps were quick, urgent, filled with concern. The moment she saw her baby sitting alone, small and waiting, her posture changed. She closed the distance immediately and scooped the baby up without hesitation.
The baby clung to her desperately.
Its cries burst out all at once now, louder than before, releasing fear and hunger together. The mother pulled the baby tightly against her chest, wrapping her arms around its thin body. She lowered her head, grooming gently, checking, apologizing in the only way she knew.
Soon, milk was offered.
The baby latched on quickly, drinking eagerly, greedily, as if afraid it might disappear again. Warmth spread through its body with each swallow. The shaking stopped. The cries softened. Relief replaced pain.
The mother held still, allowing the baby to drink as long as it needed. She stayed there, protective and focused, making sure the waiting would never have to happen again.
Outside, where the baby had sat alone moments before, the ground remained empty.
But in its mother’s arms, the baby was no longer hungry.
No longer waiting.
Just safe.
