The morning air in the Angkor Wat forest felt still, almost paused between breaths. A small monkey sat alone near the roots of a towering tree, his hands resting lightly on the ground.
He wasn’t calling out. That was what stood out most.
Other young ones chased each other along the branches overhead, but he stayed where he was, watching—not joining. Every now and then, he turned his head toward the deeper forest, as if expecting a familiar shape to return.
It never did.
A breeze passed through the leaves, and he flinched slightly, hopeful for a moment. Then his shoulders softened again. He lowered himself closer to the earth, curling just enough to feel secure.
There was no panic, no noise—just quiet waiting.
Eventually, an older monkey passed by, pausing briefly before moving on. The little one looked up, then back down again, as if understanding something without needing to react.
The forest continued around him, unchanged.
And in that quiet space, he stayed—learning, perhaps too early, what it meant to sit with the absence of comfort.