It was a quiet afternoon in the back corner of the old wooden house, where time seemed to move slowly and shadows hung heavy. The sun filtered in through the slatted windows, casting strips of warm light across the tiled floor. Everything was still—except for one trembling soul in the middle of the room.
Her name was Lina, a tiny baby monkey with ghost-white fur and deep pink eyes. Her appearance was so rare, so delicate, that it seemed she didn’t belong in the wild or even among her own kind. But it wasn’t just her appearance that set her apart—it was her fear. A fear that came from being alone, misunderstood, and left behind.
On this day, Lina had been playing quietly in the corner, dressed in a loose pink shirt that hung from her fragile body like a blanket. But something had startled her. A loud sound? A sudden movement? No one could say for sure. All that was certain was that something deep inside her tiny heart snapped—and the room was suddenly filled with her heartbreaking cries.
She stood frozen, her mouth wide open, eyes tightly shut, and let out a scream so loud, so full of pain, that even the walls seemed to echo back with sorrow. Her cries were not just sounds—they were pleas, desperate calls for comfort, for safety, for love.
Her tiny arms flailed in the air as she tried to find something—anything—to hold on to. She dropped to her knees, then laid on the floor, trembling uncontrollably. Her cries grew louder, turning into long, sorrowful wails. It wasn’t the cry of a spoiled or stubborn baby. It was the cry of deep, genuine fear.
Lina had known abandonment.
She had once clung to her mother’s belly in the forest, feeling her warmth and heartbeat. But when her troop realized she was different—too white, too visible, too much of a danger—they left her. Her own mother, frightened by the threat of predators that her brightness attracted, had walked away with the others, leaving Lina behind in the wet grass, her cries unanswered.
That memory was buried somewhere inside her, but the fear had never left. It lived in her bones, and on days like this, it surfaced with full force.
She crawled under a wooden bench, burying her face into the darkness, hoping the shadows would hide her, protect her. But the fear only followed. Her sobs became quieter, but deeper—like silent thunder trapped inside her chest.
A caretaker entered the room, confused at first, then horrified by the sound of such deep pain coming from such a small creature. She rushed over, kneeling beside the bench, whispering, “Lina… what happened, little one?”
But Lina didn’t respond. She just cried louder, her little body shaking from head to toe. Her arms reached out, not knowing who she was reaching for. She just needed someone. Anyone.
The caretaker slowly extended her hands. “Come here, baby,” she said softly.
But Lina pulled away, too scared, too lost in the storm of her emotions. Her trust had been shattered long ago. Even the gentlest hands felt uncertain.
Eventually, the caretaker sat quietly beside her. She didn’t try to force Lina out. She just waited. After a few minutes, Lina’s cries softened. She peeked out from under the bench with teary eyes and saw the woman still there—still calm, still open.
With hesitant steps, she crawled forward and let herself fall into the woman’s lap, her body limp and tired. The caretaker gently wrapped her arms around the baby, holding her against her chest, rocking her back and forth. Lina’s cries turned into soft sobs, her tiny fingers clutching the woman’s shirt as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
“Shhh… you’re okay now,” the woman whispered.
Lina buried her face into her shirt and stayed there, her breath shaky, her body slowly relaxing in the warmth of safety.
It would take time. A long time.
For a baby like Lina, trust had to be rebuilt, one moment at a time. But in that painful hour of tears and trembling, something small had begun: a bond. A beginning. A new promise that not everyone would walk away. That not every cry would be left unanswered.
The caretaker stayed with her until Lina drifted to sleep, still clinging to her tightly.
And as the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the quiet room, the silence returned—but this time, it was gentle. Peaceful. Because Lina was no longer crying.
For now, she was safe.
