Monkey Lyly sat quietly on the thick branch outside her family’s tree hollow, her big brown eyes darting toward the cave where her mother had just curled up. It was past sunset, and the jungle was humming with the sounds of frogs and crickets. She waited, barely breathing, as her mother’s soft snoring began. That was her signal.
Tonight was special.
For weeks, Lyly had been secretly collecting shiny objects she found around the forest—a silver button from a hiker’s lost coat, a piece of polished glass by the river, even a tiny spoon. She kept them hidden beneath a large leaf behind the banyan tree. No one knew. Not even her curious little brother.
Once her mother was fast asleep, Lyly tiptoed down the tree, clutching a small vine pouch she had woven herself. Her heart thumped with excitement. She raced through the moonlit jungle path until she reached the hidden grove near the waterfall. There, tucked between two large rocks, was her secret project.
A nest of treasures.
She gently added the newest piece—a smooth, round marble—right at the top of the pile. It sparkled under the moonlight, just as she imagined. To anyone else, it might look like a pile of junk. But to Lyly, it was a symbol of something more.
A dream.
Monkey Lyly wasn’t like the others. While most monkeys loved swinging from vines or stealing bananas, Lyly dreamed of being an explorer, a collector, a storyteller. Her treasure nest was the start of her jungle museum—where one day she’d show her family and friends the wonders hidden all around them.
Satisfied, she smiled to herself, whispering, “Someday, they’ll understand.”
She sat for a moment, listening to the waterfall’s rush and the leaves dancing in the breeze. Then she carefully tucked the pouch under a rock, yawned, and scampered back home.
By the time the first rays of dawn peeked through the trees, Monkey Lyly was back in bed, pretending to snore louder than anyone.
And no one ever guessed what she had done that night.
