Deep inside the green, sunlit forest, where leaves shimmered like tiny emeralds and birds filled the sky with their cheerful songs, a tiny baby monkey named Piko clung to the low branch of a fig tree. His round eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his little ears twitched every time he heard a rustle in the bushes. Today, he was more alert than ever.
Piko had been exploring for a while, but suddenly, he heard a soft sound—rustle, rustle… crunch… rustle. His heart skipped. It was the familiar rhythm of footsteps he had heard every day since he was born. The sound he normally followed everywhere.
“Mom? Is that you?” Piko whispered, his tiny voice trembling with excitement and hope.
He stretched his neck, looking toward the thick bushes. A warm breeze brushed his fur as he held his breath. Then he saw a shadow—tall, graceful, and moving slowly toward him. Piko’s tail curled in anticipation. “Mom?” he called again, this time louder.
But the figure stepped into the sunlight, and Piko’s hopes paused midair. It wasn’t his mother—it was Lari, the gentle older monkey from the neighboring group. Her eyes were soft, and she carried a handful of ripe figs.
“Oh, little Piko,” Lari chuckled. “Were you calling for your mom again?”
Piko looked down shyly. “I thought it was her. I heard footsteps, and… I hoped.”
Lari sat beside him and placed the figs in his tiny hands. “Your mom is out gathering food. She’ll come back soon. She always does.”
Piko nodded, comforted but still feeling that fluttery longing in his chest. He ate quietly while Lari kept him company until she finally disappeared into the trees again.
The forest grew brighter as noon approached. Sunbeams danced between branches, and insects buzzed lazily. Piko decided to explore again—he could never sit still for long. Everything fascinated him: beetles crawling on the bark, bright red flowers blooming by the river, and the smooth stones lining the stream.
But no matter what he looked at, his ears were always listening. He wanted to be the very first one to hear his mother’s return.
Suddenly—crack! A twig snapped behind him. Piko leaped up, heart thumping. “Mom?!”
This time, he ran toward the sound without thinking. His tiny feet pattered across the forest floor, leaves flying behind him. He squeezed through bushes, scrambled over a fallen branch, and skidded to a stop in front of a tall monkey standing near the stream.
But again, it wasn’t his mother. It was Kolo, the grumpy but harmless old male monkey who spent most of his time eating or sleeping.
Kolo blinked at him. “Why are you shouting?”
Piko sighed. “I thought you were my mom…”
Kolo snorted. “Do I look like your mom? Go play. She’ll return.”
Even though the answer wasn’t what Piko hoped for, he felt a little better. Everyone in the forest knew him well and cared for him in their own ways. He turned away, determined to wait patiently.
Hours passed. The sky softened into orange and gold. The forest grew cooler. Piko climbed up a sturdy branch where he often napped with his mother. He curled up, watching the path she usually took when returning.
The shadows stretched longer. Crickets began their nightly song. Still, no sign of her.
Piko’s chest tightened. “Where are you, Mom?” he whispered.
A tear glimmered in his eye. He wasn’t sad because he felt abandoned—he just missed her warmth, her smell, her gentle grooming, the way she always wrapped her tail around him during naps.
But just when he felt the weight of worry settle deeper, a familiar sound floated toward him—
rustle… rustle… swish…
Piko’s ears perked.
His heart fluttered.
His eyes widened.
That rhythm—he knew it. It wasn’t Lari. It wasn’t Kolo. It wasn’t anyone else.
That was her.
“Mom?” he squeaked softly, barely daring to hope.
He stood on the branch, leaning forward, gripping the bark with shaking hands.
Then, through the dimming light, a shape emerged—graceful, gentle, walking with the same calm steps he knew by heart.
Piko gasped. His whole body lit up like sunshine bursting through clouds.
“Mom!!”
A soft smile spread across her face as she appeared fully in view. Her fur was slightly dusty from travel, and her arms were full of fruits she had gathered for him.
“Piko,” she called gently.
In an instant, the little monkey launched himself off the branch and into her arms. She caught him effortlessly, wrapping him close, nuzzling his forehead. Piko clung to her chest, eyes squeezed shut with pure relief and joy.
“I missed you,” he whispered into her fur.
“I missed you too,” she murmured, stroking his tiny head. “I’m sorry I took so long. I had to find the best food for my little one.”
Piko looked at the fruits—bright yellow berries, soft figs, sweet mango pieces. His mother always brought back the most delicious treats, choosing each one with love.
He snuggled closer. “I kept calling. Every sound made me think it was you.”
She kissed the top of his head. “And now I’m here.”
They settled under the big fig tree where they usually slept. Piko ate happily while his mother groomed him gently, removing leaves stuck in his fur from his earlier adventures. With every soft stroke, Piko felt safer and more loved.
Other monkeys passed by, smiling as they saw the little one reunited with his mother.
Lari stopped briefly. “Told you she’d come back,” she said kindly.
Piko grinned. “I know.”
Kolo wandered by too, carrying—of course—a mouthful of fruit. “Good. Now stop running around shouting,” he grumbled, though his eyes showed affection.
The night grew darker. The forest glowed with moonlight. Piko curled in his mother’s arms, warm and content.
“Mom?” he whispered sleepily.
“Yes, Piko?”
“When I heard footsteps earlier… I thought someone was you. But when I saw them, I knew it wasn’t.”
She stroked his cheek. “And now you know that no one walks like I do.”
Piko giggled softly. “Yeah…”
His mother pulled him closer, wrapping her tail around him like a soft blanket. “Whenever you’re scared or unsure, call for me. I’ll always come back.”
Piko let out a tiny sigh of relief. “I know, Mom. I believe you.”
And with that, the little monkey drifted to sleep—safe, warm, and finally at peace—knowing that no matter how big the forest was or how many strange sounds he heard, his mother would always return to him.
Because to Piko, there was no sound sweeter than the footsteps of the one he loved most.
