In a quiet corner of the forest temple, Monkey Anna sat on an old stone, her baby clinging tightly to her chest. The morning sun filtered through the trees, casting soft golden light on their tiny faces. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful — the baby nestled close, eyes half closed, reaching for comfort. But soon, a soft whimper broke the stillness. The baby wanted milk again.
Anna looked down, her gentle eyes filled with both love and hesitation. She had been feeding her little one all morning, yet her body seemed tired, her strength fading. Carefully, she pushed the baby’s tiny hands away, not harshly but softly, as if to say, “Enough for now.” The baby didn’t understand. Confused and hungry, it began to cry — a sound so tender, so innocent, that even the wind seemed to pause.
The cries echoed through the troop. A few nearby monkeys glanced over, watching silently. Anna turned her head, avoiding the gaze of others, her expression mixed with guilt and sadness. She wanted to comfort her baby but knew she needed to rest. The little one kept trying to crawl back toward her chest, pressing its tiny face against her fur, searching desperately for milk that wasn’t being offered.
Finally, Anna pulled her baby close, hugging it tightly. Though she didn’t resume feeding, her warmth spoke of love beyond words. The baby’s cries softened, replaced by small sobs and sniffling breaths as it drifted into uneasy sleep.
It was a simple, heartbreaking moment — a mother’s love meeting her limits, and a baby’s innocent need reminding everyone that tenderness often carries pain within its beauty.
