Little monkey Susu sat alone by the stream and was thinking about something.🙂‍↔️

Little monkey Susu sat alone by the stream and was thinking about something.🙂‍↔️ The water slid past smooth stones with a soft, whispering sound, and the sunlight broke into tiny sparkles as it touched the surface. Susu hugged his knees and watched the ripples move away from him, one after another, like thoughts that came and went without asking permission.

Susu was small, even for a young monkey. His tail curled neatly beside him, and his fingers traced lines in the damp sand. Usually, he was never alone. He followed his mother everywhere—up trees, across branches, and into noisy groups where everyone talked at once. But today, his feet had carried him here without him really knowing why. Something felt heavy in his chest, like a question he didn’t yet know how to ask.

A leaf drifted down from above and landed in the water. Susu watched it spin slowly before being pulled along by the gentle current. “Where are you going?” he whispered. Of course, the leaf didn’t answer. It just kept moving, calm and certain, as if the stream already knew the way.

Earlier that morning, Susu had tried to climb the tall fig tree with the older monkeys. He slipped. Not badly, but enough to make the others laugh. They didn’t mean to be unkind, but their laughter had stung. Susu had scrambled down, cheeks warm with embarrassment, pretending he didn’t care. Yet the feeling stayed with him, following him like a shadow until he ended up by the stream.

He picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the water. Plop. Circles spread outward, touching the edges of the stream before fading away. Susu frowned thoughtfully. “Everything I do makes circles,” he murmured. “Even when I don’t mean to.”

From the bushes nearby came a rustle. Susu froze, then relaxed when a dragonfly zipped into view, its wings shimmering blue and green. It hovered above the water, still as a thought held carefully in the mind. Susu smiled despite himself. The dragonfly dipped, touched the surface, and rose again.

“You’re not afraid,” Susu said softly. “You just… try.”

The stream seemed to listen. It kept flowing, steady and patient. Susu leaned back on his hands and looked up at the sky, where white clouds drifted lazily. He wondered if the clouds ever felt left behind or too slow. Maybe they just moved at their own pace.

A memory floated up: his mother’s voice, warm and gentle. Everyone grows differently, Susu. At the time, he had nodded without really understanding. Now, by the stream, the words felt different—deeper, like the water beneath the surface.

Susu scooped up some water and let it slip through his fingers. No matter how tightly he tried to hold it, the water always found a way to escape. He laughed quietly at himself. “I guess I can’t hold everything,” he said. “And maybe that’s okay.”

A frog hopped onto a rock nearby and croaked once, loud and proud. Susu jumped, then laughed again. The frog blinked and puffed out its throat, completely unbothered by Susu’s reaction. It sat there as if it owned the rock, the stream, and the moment.

“Do you ever feel small?” Susu asked the frog. The frog croaked again and leapt away. Susu watched it disappear and nodded slowly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The sun climbed higher, warming Susu’s fur. The heavy feeling in his chest began to loosen, just a little. He realized that sitting here, thinking, wasn’t a bad thing. It was like resting after a long climb, letting his breathing slow before trying again.

Susu stood up and balanced carefully on a stepping stone. The water rushed around it, but the stone stayed firm. He wobbled, then steadied himself. “See?” he told the stream. “I can learn.”

As he stepped from stone to stone, Susu imagined his thoughts doing the same—moving forward without rushing, finding balance where he could. When he reached the other side, he felt taller somehow, even though nothing about his size had changed.

A familiar call echoed through the trees. Susu’s ears perked up. It was his mother, calling him home. He turned back to the stream one last time. The water kept flowing, carrying leaves, light, and reflections with it.

“Thank you,” Susu whispered. He wasn’t sure who he was thanking—the stream, the dragonfly, the quiet, or himself. Maybe all of them.

On his way back, Susu paused beneath the fig tree. He looked up at its branches, high and inviting. His heart beat a little faster, but it wasn’t fear this time. It was determination, gentle and growing.

He climbed slowly, carefully choosing each hold. When his foot slipped, he didn’t panic. He adjusted, just like the water around the stones. A moment later, he reached a branch he hadn’t reached before. It wasn’t the top, but it was higher than yesterday.

From there, he could see the stream glinting through the trees. Susu smiled, feeling proud in a quiet way. He didn’t need cheers or laughter. He just needed to know that he was moving forward.

That evening, as the forest settled into softer sounds, Susu curled up beside his mother. She wrapped her arm around him, and he felt safe and warm. His eyes drifted closed, and the stream returned in his dreams—flowing, patient, always going somewhere new.

And little monkey Susu slept with a peaceful thought in his heart: it was okay to sit alone sometimes, to think, to feel small, and to grow in his own time.