Deep in the warm shade of the forest morning, the troop of monkeys stirred awake, chattering softly as beams of sunlight touched the treetops. But something was different—something was wrong. Jobi, the tiny baby monkey known for clinging to his father’s tail and giggling at every rustling leaf, was nowhere to be seen.
At first, his dad, Karo, thought Jobi was simply hiding, playing one of his usual peek-a-boo games behind the bamboo stalks. But when he called out with a sharp chirp and heard no tiny echo in return, a wave of worry rushed over him. Karo jumped from branch to branch, scanning every vine, every hollow log, every familiar trail the troop usually followed. His movements grew faster and more frantic, his eyes wide with unmistakable panic.
Other monkeys noticed his distress. Some gathered around, sniffing the ground and checking the low bushes. But Karo didn’t wait—he dashed into the thicker part of the forest, calling Jobi’s name again and again. Leaves scattered behind him as he hurried across branches with trembling steps. This was not just searching. This was a father desperately fighting the growing fear inside him.
Karo stopped at the edge of a small ravine where Jobi often played with butterflies. He crouched and listened carefully. Then—a faint sound. A tiny squeak, almost swallowed by the breeze. Karo’s head jolted up. It was Jobi. He recognized that voice instantly.
He followed the sound and found Jobi tangled gently in a vine, unharmed but scared, stuck just far enough that he couldn’t climb back. The moment Jobi saw his father, he reached out with both little arms. Relief washed over Karo so visibly that even the birds quieted.
