Deep in the heart of the jungle, under the soft shade of a large banana tree, a tiny baby monkey named Poki clung to a low-hanging branch. The sun filtered gently through the leaves, casting golden patches on the forest floor. Poki’s big brown eyes scanned the trees above, looking for a familiar shape — his mother.
Earlier that morning, Poki had been playing by the riverbank, hopping from stone to stone, when his mother went off to gather fruit. “Stay here and don’t wander off,” she had told him with a warm smile. Poki had nodded, full of excitement, and promised to be patient. But as the hours passed and the jungle sounds grew louder and stranger, Poki began to feel a little lonely.
The little monkey tried to stay busy. He picked up twigs, watched butterflies dance, and listened to birds chirping. But no matter what he did, he kept glancing back toward the trees, hoping to see his mom swinging back toward him. His eyes began to droop. His tiny hands loosened their grip on the branch. The warm sun, the gentle breeze, and his quiet heart finally lulled him to sleep.
There he was — curled up in a ball, tail wrapped tightly around his little body, his chest rising and falling with each soft breath. He looked so peaceful, yet so small and vulnerable.
Soon, a rustling in the leaves signaled someone’s return. It was Poki’s mother! Her arms were full of sweet mangoes, and her eyes widened in concern when she saw her baby sleeping alone. She rushed to his side, gently cradled him, and held him close.
Poki stirred and blinked sleepily, then let out a tiny sigh of relief as he nestled into her arms.
“You waited just like I asked,” she whispered, kissing his head. “I’m so proud of you.”
Safe and warm once more, Poki drifted off again — this time, in the arms of the one he loved most.
