In a quiet corner of the forest, where sunlight streamed gently through the tall green leaves, lived a tiny baby monkey named Tutu. Tutu was the youngest in his family, and everyone knew him for his sweet round eyes, soft brown fur, and the way he always wanted to be held. More than anything, Tutu loved being in his father’s arms. His dad, Moko, was the strongest and kindest monkey in the whole troop.
One cool morning, the forest felt especially peaceful. Dewdrops sparkled on leaves, birds chirped softly, and Tutu slowly woke up from his cozy sleep. He stretched his small arms, blinked twice, and looked around. But his father wasn’t beside him. Moko had climbed up a little higher to gather some fresh fruit for the family.
Tutu rubbed his eyes and felt a tiny wave of worry. He took a small step forward and looked up at the tall branches above. “Da… da…” he called in his tiny voice. It wasn’t loud, but it was full of longing.
High above, Moko heard it—his baby’s call. He turned and saw Tutu standing on a big leaf, wobbling a little. The moment Moko looked down, Tutu reached both arms upward as if saying, “Come hold me!”
Moko smiled. That was the call he knew best. Every day, Tutu asked for his father’s arms—when he woke up, when he was sleepy, when he was hungry, and sometimes just because he wanted to feel safe.
But today felt even more special. It was Tutu’s first time trying to climb up a branch by himself.
“Just a moment, little one!” Moko called gently as he climbed down, carrying a bunch of fresh yellow fruit. Tutu watched him with bright eyes, shifting excitedly on his tiny feet.
When Moko finally reached the branch where Tutu stood, the baby monkey couldn’t wait any longer. He rushed forward, tripping and tumbling right into his father’s chest. Moko laughed softly and wrapped his long strong arms around Tutu.
“There you are,” he murmured. “Good morning, my brave boy.”
Tutu made a happy chirp and immediately snuggled into Moko’s fluffy chest. His tiny hands gripped tightly, as though worried his dad might disappear again. Moko understood. He gently rocked Tutu, rubbing his back in slow circles.
The other monkeys watched with warm smiles. “Tutu loves his dad so much,” one said. “He’s always calling for him!”
The morning went on, and Moko carried Tutu everywhere. When they climbed high trees, Tutu hugged tight around Moko’s neck. When they jumped from branch to branch, Tutu squealed with joy, confident he was safe in his father’s hold. When they rested on a large tree trunk, Tutu sat on Moko’s lap, munching fruit while leaning against him.
But as the day grew warmer, something interesting began happening. Tutu felt a little more confident. He took a few steps on his own, climbed to a nearby branch, and even tried swinging once. But every time he looked back and couldn’t see Moko, he froze.
“Da…dad!” he called again.
And every single time, without fail, Moko appeared. “I’m here,” he said gently. “I’m always here.”
The afternoon sunlight painted the forest gold. Moko sat on a sturdy branch, resting after a long morning. Tutu played nearby, climbing bravely but not too far. A butterfly fluttered near him, and Tutu tried to grab it, giggling each time it escaped.
Suddenly, a strong breeze rustled the leaves. Tutu lost his balance on the branch and slipped. He didn’t fall far—just a tiny slide down the bark—but it scared him. His heart thumped fast. His little hands trembled.
Without thinking, he made that familiar sound. “Da… da… hold me!”
It wasn’t just a call. It was a plea.
Moko reached him in a heartbeat. He scooped Tutu into his arms and pressed him close. “You’re okay,” Moko whispered warmly. “I’ve got you.”
Tutu buried his face into his father’s fur, calming slowly. The world felt safe again.
The other monkeys noticed the moment and nodded. It was clear: Tutu trusted his father completely. The dad didn’t simply hold Tutu—he protected him, taught him, and made him feel brave even when he was scared.
When Tutu finally peeked out, he looked embarrassed. He didn’t like feeling frightened.
Moko gave him a soft smile. “It’s all right to call for me. That’s what dads are for.”
The words made Tutu beam. He wrapped his arms tighter around Moko and pressed his tiny cheek against him. Moko held him a little closer, knowing that someday Tutu would grow big and strong—but for now, he was just a small baby who needed his father.
Evening began to fall. The forest turned soft and dim as fireflies started glowing. The troop gathered on their favorite resting branches. Mothers held their babies, older monkeys groomed each other, and tiny ones played gently before bedtime.
Tutu was getting sleepy. His eyes drooped, his arms relaxed, and every now and then he let out a little yawn. Moko shifted him to a more comfortable spot on his chest.
As Tutu’s eyes slowly closed, he whispered one last tiny word: “Da…”
It wasn’t a call this time. It was a loving sigh.
Moko kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, my little boy.”
But just as Tutu drifted deeper into sleep, he startled a little and reached upward with both arms, eyes still shut. It was pure instinct—he wanted his dad’s embrace even in dreams.
Moko wrapped him securely and hummed a gentle sound only father monkeys knew. Tutu relaxed instantly.
The moon rose slowly, shining on the quiet forest and the peaceful troop. And right in the center, baby Tutu slept safely in his father’s arms—exactly where he wanted to be from the very moment he called out in the morning.
From sunrise to sunset, from his first cry to his sleepy sigh, Tutu knew one thing for sure: whenever he needed comfort, courage, or simply a warm hug, his dad would always be there.
And so, under the gentle light of the moon, the baby monkey dreamed sweetly—held close by the father he loved so deeply.
