In the green heart of the village orchard, the late afternoon sun draped its golden light across the trees. The longan trees were heavy with fruit, their branches bowing under the weight of round, sweet treasures. Among the chattering of birds and the soft rustling of leaves, little Bibi the baby monkey swung happily from branch to branch. She was curious, energetic, and always eager to taste anything that looked delicious.
That day, her mischievous adventure began with a longan.
Bibi’s mother had just plucked a cluster of ripe longans and was enjoying them quietly. She cracked the thin shells, popped the translucent fruit into her mouth, and then carefully spat the slippery black seeds onto the ground. Bibi watched, her eyes widening with wonder. She wanted to try too, but patience was never her strength.
The baby monkey stretched out her tiny fingers and grabbed a cluster of longans that dangled low. With surprising determination, she tore one free and tried to copy her mother. She bit into the skin, squeaked at the burst of sweet juice, and then quickly gobbled up the fleshy part.
But instead of spitting out the seed like her mother, Bibi rolled it around in her mouth. The seed was smooth, shiny, and round like a polished marble. She found it fascinating.
One seed became two. Two became three. And before long, Bibi had stuffed nearly a handful of seeds into her tiny cheeks. Her little face puffed up like she was holding secret treasures, and her sparkling eyes darted around to make sure no one was going to take them away.
Her mother noticed first.
“Bibi!” she chattered in alarm, rushing over. “Spit them out, little one! Seeds are not for eating.”
But Bibi puffed out her cheeks stubbornly. She wanted to keep her prize. She thought the seeds were fun to play with—like toys hidden safely in her mouth. She shook her head and tried to scamper away.
That was when the other young monkeys noticed.
Lala, Bibi’s older sister, swung over from a nearby branch. “What’s in your mouth, Bibi?” she teased. “Show me!”
Bibi shook her head fiercely, her little cheeks wobbling like two round dumplings. Lala laughed so hard she nearly lost her balance on the branch.
Soon, the whole group of youngsters crowded around. They tugged at Bibi’s hands, peered into her face, and made funny noises trying to coax her into opening her mouth. But Bibi was determined. She kept her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes shining with both pride and mischief.
The elders of the troop sighed at the commotion. They knew Bibi’s playful spirit often got her into trouble. One of the uncles, a large, gentle monkey named Cutis, decided to step in.
“Bibi,” he said calmly, “those seeds are not toys. If you keep them in your mouth, you could choke. Come, let me show you something better.”
But Bibi, still puffed-cheeked, scampered higher into the branches. She clutched a cluster of leaves like a victorious warrior holding a flag. From above, she peered down at everyone, her mouth still bulging ridiculously.
The other monkeys burst into laughter again. Even her mother, though worried, couldn’t help but smile at how silly Bibi looked—her cheeks like two balloons, her little hands waving stubbornly.
Meanwhile, a group of children from the village had wandered near the orchard. They spotted Bibi and gasped in delight.
“Look at the baby monkey!” one shouted. “She’s holding something in her mouth!”
“It looks like she’s storing food, like a hamster!” another giggled.
The children clapped their hands and pointed, which only made Bibi more determined to keep her mouthful of treasures. She loved being the center of attention.
But then, something unexpected happened.
As Bibi tried to chatter back proudly to the children, a seed slipped in her mouth. It slid backward, making her cough. Her eyes widened in alarm. She froze, realizing the seeds were not as safe as she thought.
Her mother dashed forward, panic in her every movement. She gently tapped Bibi’s back, urging her to spit them out. The other monkeys gathered around, worried now instead of amused.
Finally, with a sputter and a squeak, Bibi opened her mouth wide. Out tumbled the slippery black seeds, dropping one after another onto the soft grass below.
Everyone sighed in relief.
Bibi sat quietly for a moment, her lips sticky with fruit juice, her pride slightly bruised. She looked down at the pile of seeds she had worked so hard to hoard. They no longer seemed like treasures—just useless little stones she had nearly choked on.
Her mother scooped her up and held her close. “See, my little one? Seeds are for planting, not for hiding in your mouth.”
To comfort Bibi, Cutis picked up one of the seeds and pressed it gently into the soil nearby. “Look, Bibi,” he said, “if we plant it, one day it will grow into a tree. Then you’ll have all the longans you could ever want.”
Bibi’s ears perked up. She watched curiously as the seed disappeared beneath the dirt. The idea of having a whole tree for herself fascinated her. She forgot about her embarrassment and clapped her tiny hands happily.
The other monkeys joined in, patting the soil and pretending to plant more seeds. The children from the village, still watching, laughed and cheered at the scene. Some even ran home to fetch little watering cans, eager to help. Soon the ground was dotted with seeds pressed lovingly into the earth.
From that day on, whenever Bibi saw longan seeds, she didn’t put them in her mouth anymore. Instead, she proudly carried them in her hands, running to find a spot to “plant” them. She became the troop’s little gardener, always pretending to grow her own orchard.
Her mother and the elders praised her for her change of heart, and the younger monkeys followed her example. What started as a dangerous game turned into a playful lesson about patience, care, and growth.
And though it would take many seasons for the seeds to sprout and grow, in the imagination of a little monkey, the orchard was already full of her very own trees.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the orchard filled with the soft calls of evening, Bibi snuggled close to her mother. Her cheeks were no longer puffed with seeds but with a sleepy smile. She had learned something important that day—sometimes letting go of what you cling to brings even greater treasures.
And in the quiet glow of twilight, the orchard seemed to whisper back, promising that one day, Bibi’s planted seeds would indeed grow into trees that stretched toward the sky.
