The morning light filtered softly through the tall trees of Angkor Wat, settling gently on the forest floor. A small monkey sat alone near a worn stone path, his body still, his eyes searching.
He lifted one tiny hand—not urgently, not dramatically—but slowly, as if expecting a familiar presence to meet it halfway.
Nothing came.
The troop had already moved deeper into the trees. Their distant rustling faded into the background, leaving behind a quiet that felt heavier than usual.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t chase. He simply sat there, blinking in the warm light, his hand lowering back to his side.
A nearby branch swayed, and for a brief moment, he turned—hopeful. But it was only the wind.
In the forest, moments like this pass quietly. No clear beginning, no defined ending. Just a small life learning, in its own time, how to keep going.
And after a while, he stood up.
Then, slowly, he followed.