In the early light of Angkor Wat, the forest felt unusually still. A very small baby monkey clung to a low root, his eyes scanning the path ahead as if expecting someone familiar to return.
He made soft movements—small shifts, tiny calls—but never wandered far. It seemed like he was holding onto the last place he remembered. Leaves stirred above him, and other monkeys passed through the canopy, but none stopped.
As the morning warmed, he adjusted his position, curling slightly into himself. There was no panic, just a quiet patience that felt deeply instinctive. He watched everything.
The forest carried on around him—steady, unchanged—while he remained in that one small space, waiting.
