The forest around Angkor Wat has its own kind of breath—soft, ancient, and filled with secrets only the trees remember. And on that quiet, misty morning, one of those secrets was a tiny monkey named Kody, trembling alone on a mossy stone, his chest rising and falling with the shaky rhythm of fear.
Kody wasn’t supposed to be alone.
He wasn’t supposed to be wandering without a mother, without a family, without the warm circle of bodies that used to keep him safe every night. But life in the temple forests does not always protect the gentle ones, and Kody—barely old enough to cling—had lost the mother who once carried him through these towering ruins.
At first, other monkeys ignored him.
Then they avoided him.
And eventually, they pushed him out completely.
But the worst moment came when Popoy, an older, territorial male, spotted the weak little baby trying to sneak near the troop’s feeding area. Kody didn’t understand borders or rules—he only understood hunger. He only understood loneliness.
Popoy leapt down from a branch with a harsh warning bark, landing only inches from Kody.
The sound echoed through the stone corridors like thunder.
Kody froze.
Then came the swipe—a fast, sharp gesture meant to scare him, not destroy him, but to a baby already drowning in confusion, it felt like the world collapsing. He stumbled back, little arms shielding his face, squeaking in pure fear.
It wasn’t the pain that broke him—it was the memory it triggered.
For a split second, he saw his mother’s face.
Her warm eyes.
Her soft arms.
The way she used to hum in tiny, gentle grunts.
The way she never let danger touch him.
And suddenly, Kody wasn’t on a stone ledge in Angkor Wat anymore—he was back in the safety he’d lost.
A home he missed so deeply his tiny chest felt like it was caving in.
Kody backed away from Popoy, scooting across the ground until he reached a corner of a fallen temple wall. He curled in on himself, shaking, whimpering in soft, broken chirps that sounded too close to crying.
That was the moment I saw him.
I’d been filming a family of macaques near the ancient moat when his thin, trembling silhouette caught my attention. Something about the way he sat—still but not peaceful—pulled me toward him like gravity.
As I approached, I could see the small scratch on his arm, but the real injury was in his expression. His eyes, big and wet, weren’t angry, weren’t wild.
They were pleading.
He didn’t want food.
He didn’t want to play.
He just wanted someone—anyone—to notice he still existed.
I sat down slowly, careful not to startle him. The forest softened again, as if the entire world sensed how fragile this moment was. Kody blinked at me, his lashes trembling, then let out the smallest sound, a tiny “kee…” that sounded like a little heartbeat breaking.
Popoy watched from a distance, satisfied that the baby had retreated. The troop returned to their grooming and foraging, unconcerned that one of their own had chosen fear over belonging.
Kody inched forward.
Not bravely.
Not confidently.
But with the quiet desperation of someone who just wanted to feel safe again.
When he reached the edge of my shoe, he sat down beside it—close enough to feel protected, far enough to feel in control. And for several minutes, we just sat there together under the rising sun.
The jungle began to awaken around us: cicadas humming, parrots calling, the temples glowing gold. Time moved slowly, gently, as if giving Kody a chance to breathe again.
I knew I couldn’t replace his mother, couldn’t give him back what he had lost. But I could stay.
I could witness him.
I could make sure his story didn’t disappear into the forest unnoticed.
And maybe that was enough—for now.
Kody eventually rested his head against a root near my foot, exhaustion finally overtaking fear. His tiny body relaxed, his breaths deepened, and for the first time that morning, he looked like a baby again—not a survivor.
As he slept, I knew one thing for certain:
Kody may have been abandoned, attacked, and heartbroken—but his story wasn’t over.
Not as long as someone cared enough to tell it.
