The morning air in the forest near Angkor Wat felt unusually still, as though the trees themselves were pausing before the day began. Sunlight filtered gently through the branches, touching the moss-covered stones and warming the earth below.
That was when I noticed them.
A mother monkey sat leaning against an old tree root, her posture relaxed but alert. Her eyes were half-closed, resting—but never fully unaware of her surroundings. Curled beside her was a newborn baby, so tiny his movements felt almost fragile against the vastness of the jungle.
At first, he simply lay there, blinking slowly. Then, almost instinctively, he began to shift.
His small hands stretched forward, brushing against his mother’s side. He gave a soft nudge, then another. It wasn’t a cry. It wasn’t urgency. It was the quiet language of a newborn searching for reassurance.
Without fully opening her eyes, the mother adjusted slightly, making space for him.
He climbed carefully onto her lap, unsteady but determined. His tiny fingers gripped her fur, and she responded with a subtle tilt of her body—just enough to guide him closer.
And then he found what he was looking for.
