From the moment I met her, something inside me shifted. She was just a tiny baby monkey—her fur still soft and patchy, her big round eyes filled with confusion and fear. She clung to a piece of cloth, trembling, unsure of where she was or who to trust. The first time our eyes met, she didn’t move. She only looked—deeply, curiously, and desperately. That look stayed with me. It was as if she was asking, “Are you the one who’s going to take care of me now?”
In the beginning, she didn’t understand that I wasn’t a monkey like her. I wasn’t her mother, but she didn’t know that. Every time I stepped out of sight, she’d cry softly, her little hands reaching into the air, searching for warmth, for comfort, for someone she could hold on to. I tried not to pick her up too often at first—I wanted her to learn independence—but her small cries tore through my heart. I couldn’t ignore her.
When I finally held her, she wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her face into my shoulder. She stayed like that for minutes, breathing softly, her tiny chest rising and falling against me. In that moment, it didn’t matter that I wasn’t her real mother. To her, I was someone safe.
Over the days, her behavior changed. She began to follow me everywhere I went. If I walked across the room, she would wobble after me, tripping over her own little feet. If I sat down, she would climb into my lap. If I looked away, she would tug gently at my sleeve until I looked at her again. That’s when I realized: she wasn’t just looking for me—she was depending on me.
Bath time was one of the first challenges we faced together. The first few times, she screamed the moment she saw the water. Her tiny fingers would grip the edge of the basin, refusing to let go. It broke my heart to see her so afraid, so I began taking it slow. I dipped my hand into the water, showing her it was safe, then gently wet her fur with a cloth. She didn’t like it at first, but she kept her eyes locked on me, watching every move I made.
I spoke softly to her. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”
After several tries, something changed. She stopped trembling. She looked at me, her eyes full of trust, and she allowed me to wash her. It was as if she was saying, “If you say it’s safe, I’ll believe you.” When I dried her with a soft towel, she clung to my arm, wrapping her little fingers around it tightly. She smelled of soap and sweetness, her fur fluffy and warm. I laughed softly, but inside, I felt a pang of emotion. She truly thought I was her mom.
Every morning, when I entered the room, she would perk up instantly. Her tail would twitch, and her face would light up with joy. She would rush toward me, arms open, waiting to be picked up. The moment I lifted her, she’d nuzzle her face against my cheek, making soft, happy sounds. It was our little morning ritual—one that melted my heart every time.
But there were also moments that made me ache. Sometimes she’d wake up in the middle of the night, calling out with soft whimpers, searching for her mother. I’d hold her close, rocking her gently until she fell asleep again. In those moments, I could feel her loneliness—the deep, instinctive longing for a mother she barely remembered. And yet, even though I wasn’t the one who gave birth to her, I wanted to be the one to fill that empty space in her heart.
She began mimicking me too, in her own adorable way. When I cleaned the floor, she’d pick up a piece of cloth and drag it around. When I ate fruit, she’d sit beside me, waiting for a small piece. Once, I pretended to brush my hair—and she reached for the brush, running it across her head clumsily. Watching her learn was like watching a child grow. Every day, she showed me more of her personality—curious, playful, and full of love.
There was one afternoon that truly showed me how much she had bonded with me. I had to leave for a few hours to buy supplies. When I returned, she was waiting by the door. The moment she saw me, she squeaked, jumped up, and ran toward me as fast as she could. She leapt into my arms and held on tightly, refusing to let go. Her eyes glistened with tears, and she kept making soft sounds, as if scolding me for leaving her alone. I hugged her back, whispering, “I missed you too, little one.”
From that day, I realized something important—she didn’t just look for me like a caretaker. She looked for me like a mother. She trusted me completely, loved me deeply, and found comfort in my presence.
Sometimes, I catch her watching me quietly from across the room. Her eyes are wide, filled with that same emotion she had on the first day we met—trust mixed with longing. I wonder if she still remembers her real mother, the warmth of being held, the security of belonging. I can’t replace that, but I can give her love every single day.
Our bond has only grown stronger over time. She now plays freely, climbing, jumping, and exploring—but she always looks back to see if I’m watching. If I smile or call her name, she rushes back happily, as if to say, “I’m here, Mom!” When she eats, she sometimes offers me a tiny piece of fruit, pressing it into my hand. It’s her way of sharing, of saying thank you.
There are moments when she sits quietly on my lap, her head resting on my arm, and I can feel her breathing slow and steady. I stroke her fur gently, whispering to her that she’s safe, that she’s loved, that she’ll never be alone again.
She keeps looking for me… not because she’s scared anymore, but because she knows I’ll always be there. She’s no longer that frightened baby who trembled in the corner. Now she’s full of energy, playfulness, and confidence—but even so, when she’s tired or unsure, she still turns to me for comfort.
And I realize—I’ve changed too. She may think of me as her mom, but she’s become like a child to me. I worry when she’s sick, laugh when she’s playful, and feel proud when she learns something new. She’s taught me what unconditional trust looks like.
Every living being deserves to feel safe, loved, and cared for. When I see her look up at me with those wide, shining eyes, I know that even though she’s a little monkey and I’m just a human, love has no boundary.
She found her comfort in me, and I found a piece of my heart in her. ❤️🐒
