At exactly 5 p.m., the zoo felt different. The crowds had thinned, the noise softened, and the late afternoon light settled gently across the enclosure. That’s when Boris came into view.
The baby monkey wasn’t doing anything dramatic. He wasn’t crying or calling out. He was simply there—pressed close to his mother’s side, fingers wrapped carefully into her fur, eyes half-open as if deciding whether to rest or stay alert.
Keepers nearby spoke softly, watching without interfering. Boris shifted once, then again, testing his balance, before leaning back into the familiar warmth of his mother. It was the kind of moment you could easily miss—but once you noticed it, you couldn’t look away.
This was how Boris was doing at 5 p.m. Not perfect. Not fragile. Just steady, quiet, and holding on.
Sometimes, progress doesn’t announce itself. Sometimes it shows up as a small body still choosing closeness at the end of the day.
