In the middle of a quiet little village surrounded by tall green palm trees and warm sunshine, there was a small wooden house where an old woman named Grandma Sori lived. Grandma Sori had lived there all her life, and everyone in the village knew her for one special thing: she loved animals—especially baby monkeys.
Every morning, as the sun peeked through the leaves, a group of tiny monkeys would climb down from the big jackfruit tree next to her house. Their soft brown fur shone in the early light, and their little hands made tiny tapping sounds as they hurried across the ground. They came every single day because they knew Grandma Sori always had food waiting for them.
But among all the things she gave them—bananas, mango slices, sugarcane, and fresh coconut—the baby monkeys loved one thing more than anything else in the world: rice. Soft, warm, fluffy rice.
One little monkey in particular, named Lopi, loved rice the most. Lopi was the tiniest monkey in the group, with big round eyes and ears that stuck out just a little too much. He was curious about everything, always touching, sniffing, and exploring—yet when rice came out, he forgot everything else.
Every morning, Grandma Sori would cook a fresh pot of rice. As the steam floated up like a soft white cloud, the smell drifted out the window. Lopi always smelled it first.
The moment he caught the scent, Lopi would sit up straight, his little nose twitching fast. Then he’d make his cute sound:
“Eeek! Eeek!”
That was his way of saying, “Rice! Rice! Hurry everyone!”
The other baby monkeys—Mina, Tomi, Lulu, and Bobo—would follow Lopi as he rushed toward Grandma Sori’s kitchen. They would sit on the little steps like well-behaved children waiting for their meal.
Grandma Sori would laugh every time.
“Ay, you babies only come here for rice, hmm?” she would tease. “Not even a ‘good morning’ for me?”
Lopi always lifted his tiny hands as if to say sorry, and this made the old woman laugh even harder.
She would take a big bowl and scoop out some warm rice, letting it cool so the little ones wouldn’t burn their mouths. Then she would spread it on a flat banana leaf outside her house.
The moment the rice touched the leaf, the baby monkeys jumped with excitement.
Lopi always ran forward first. He grabbed a handful of rice in his tiny fingers, stuffing it into his mouth until his cheeks puffed up. He looked like a little rice-filled balloon. The grains stuck to his fur, his face, even his eyebrows.
Mina, the gentle one, ate slowly. She would take just one grain at a time and chew softly, as if she wanted to enjoy the taste for as long as possible.
Tomi, the naughty one, kept trying to steal Lopi’s rice—even though there was plenty for everyone. Every time he tried, Lopi squeaked loudly and hugged his rice tightly, making Grandma Sori chuckle.
Lulu, the shy one, always waited until the others finished. She would watch first, making sure no one was too close, then move forward quietly to eat her share.
Bobo was the messy eater. Rice fell everywhere when he ate. One time, he even sneezed and sent rice flying into Tomi’s face. Tomi froze for a second… then burst into laughter, starting a playful rice war between the two of them.
Even though they loved bananas and sweet fruits, nothing made the baby monkeys happier than eating rice together. Maybe it was the soft texture, maybe it was the warmth, or maybe it was simply because eating rice meant time spent together, safe and joyful.
One afternoon, something special happened.
Grandma Sori decided to cook sticky rice with coconut milk. As the aroma drifted into the trees, the monkeys got excited—even more excited than usual. Lopi almost fell off a branch when he sniffed the new smell.
When the sticky rice was done, Grandma Sori placed it on a big banana leaf outside. The baby monkeys rushed forward in a happy swarm.
But then Lopi did something different.
Before taking a bite, he picked up one tiny handful of sticky rice and walked over to Lulu—the shy little monkey who always waited last.
He gently placed the rice in front of her.
Lulu blinked, surprised, but then her face lit up. She touched Lopi’s shoulder softly and began to eat. It was the first time she had eaten before the others.
Grandma Sori felt her heart melt.
“So sweet,” she whispered. “Maybe you babies eat rice because it brings out your kindness too.”
After that day, Lopi always made sure Lulu got her share first. The other monkeys even started copying him—Mina shared her rice, Bobo tried not to sneeze all over everything, and Tomi stopped stealing food (well… almost).
Eating rice together became their happy tradition.
And as the days passed, the bond between Grandma Sori and the monkeys grew. They started coming not only for food but also for comfort. Sometimes they sat around her feet while she rested on her wooden chair. Sometimes they slept near her house during warm nights.
But Lopi—he became her favorite.
One evening, the sky turned orange and pink as the sun set behind the mountains. Lopi climbed up onto Grandma Sori’s lap after his meal. His belly was round with rice, and he looked sleepy.
She gently stroked his little head.
“Ah, Lopi,” she whispered. “You and your friends… you make this house feel alive.”
The tiny monkey let out a soft “eeeek,” his eyes half-closed.
Soon the other baby monkeys gathered around. Mina curled up near Sori’s slippers. Bobo lay on his back, rubbing his full belly. Tomi and Lulu sat close together, their tails almost touching.
The scene was peaceful—the soft sound of crickets, the warm evening air, and the quiet breathing of five little baby monkeys who knew they were safe and loved.
Grandma Sori smiled.
Maybe they came for the rice at first.
But now… they stayed for the family they had become.
And every day after that, whether in sunshine or light rain, the baby monkeys visited Grandma Sori’s home, happily munching rice together, filling her days with laughter and sweetness.
Because sometimes, the simplest things—like sharing a warm bowl of rice—create the cutest moments and the strongest bonds.
