From the very first day I met her, I knew she had been through more than any baby ever should. Tiny, trembling, and clutching the edge of a worn blanket, she looked up at me with eyes full of both fear and hope. Her name was Cici, an orphan baby monkey who had just lost her mother. That loss left a wound far deeper than anyone could see — one that made her cling to every bit of love she could find.
When I reached out to her, she didn’t hesitate. She leaped into my arms as if she had been waiting her whole life for that one moment of safety. Her little fingers wrapped tightly around my hand, and from then on, she never wanted to let go. If I moved, she moved. If I stood up, she climbed onto my shoulder. If I walked away for even a second, she would cry with a heartbreaking sound that could melt anyone’s heart.
Every morning, as soon as she heard my footsteps, she’d rush toward me with wide eyes and a soft, desperate squeak. She’d cling to my shirt, her tail curling around my arm like it was a lifeline. I could feel her tiny heartbeat racing against my chest — fast, frightened, and full of longing. I whispered to her gently, “It’s okay, Cici. I’m here.”
At first, she didn’t trust that promise. How could she? The world had already taken her mother. She’d seen love vanish once, and she was terrified it might happen again. Whenever I tried to put her down — even for a moment — she’d panic. Her little hands would tighten, and she’d make soft crying noises, begging me not to go.
It broke my heart. I understood that she wasn’t just being clingy — she was scared. Every touch, every cuddle, every glance meant safety to her. I realized I wasn’t just her caretaker; I was her whole world now.
In the afternoons, we’d sit together under the mango tree. The warm breeze would rustle the leaves, and she’d finally relax a little, snuggled in my lap. Sometimes, she’d reach up and touch my face gently, her big brown eyes studying me as if to make sure I was real — that I wasn’t another dream that could disappear.
When she played, she was joyful, curious, and silly — but even then, she always stayed close enough to grab onto me at any second. If I laughed, she’d mimic me. If I called her name, she’d come running, jumping straight into my arms like there was no safer place in the world.
Bath time used to be the hardest. The first few times I tried to wash her, she cried and clung to my neck, trembling like a leaf. Maybe the sound of water reminded her of the rainstorm from the night she lost her mother. I didn’t rush her. I talked softly, humming while gently splashing warm water over her tiny body. Gradually, she began to trust that baths could be fun — as long as I was beside her.
One evening, I had to step out to bring her some milk. She had fallen asleep, curled up in her little basket. I thought I could sneak out quietly. But as soon as I closed the door, I heard her cry — a sound filled with panic and pain. I ran back, and she was standing there, eyes wet, shaking all over. She reached out her arms to me, and the moment I picked her up, she pressed her face into my neck, refusing to let go.
That night, I didn’t try to make her sleep alone again. She stayed curled up against my chest, her tiny hands clutching my shirt. I could feel her breath slow, her body finally relaxing. She just needed to know I wasn’t leaving.
Over time, her fear began to fade — little by little. She still followed me everywhere, but now her eyes sparkled with joy, not fear. She began to play with other baby animals, exploring her surroundings with curiosity. Yet, even in her brave moments, she’d always look back at me to make sure I was watching.
When she climbed a small tree for the first time, she looked so proud, standing on a low branch and squealing with excitement. But when she noticed I had stepped a few feet away, she froze. She climbed down quickly, ran toward me, and hugged my leg. I knelt down, stroked her back, and said softly, “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
She looked up at me, blinking those big eyes — and for the first time, I saw trust, pure and shining. That was the moment I realized she finally believed me.
Some days, I imagine how her life might have been if her mother were still here. But then I look at how far she’s come — from a frightened orphan to a brave little soul learning to love again — and I feel grateful that I get to be part of her story.
Whenever I sit down to write or rest, she’s there. Sometimes she lies across my lap, playing with my fingers. Other times she curls on my shoulder, humming softly in her sleep. And even though she’s growing stronger and more confident each day, there are still moments when she looks at me with that same fragile fear, as if asking, “You won’t leave me, right?”
And I always whisper the same promise back: “Never, Cici. You’re safe.”
Love heals slowly. It doesn’t erase pain — it replaces it, piece by piece, with warmth, patience, and trust. Watching her learn to feel safe again has been one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Every smile she gives me, every playful tug of my hair, every gentle cuddle before bed — they’re all reminders that love, once lost, can be found again.
Sometimes, when the sun sets and the golden light touches her fur, she looks like a tiny angel. She sits on my arm, eyes half-closed, and sighs in contentment. In those moments, I realize something important — maybe she’s afraid to lose me, but in truth, I’m just as afraid to lose her.
Because she’s not just a rescued monkey anymore. She’s family. She’s the little heartbeat that follows me around, the tiny soul who trusts me completely, the one who showed me what unconditional love really means.
Every day, when I look into her eyes, I remember the scared baby she once was — and the brave, loving friend she’s become. Her story reminds me that even the most broken hearts can heal when given kindness and care.
And as she falls asleep in my arms again tonight, her little hand clutching my finger tightly, I know she still remembers what it feels like to lose someone she loves. But I also know she’s learning, day by day, that this time — she doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. 💗🐒
