In a quiet corner of the village market, beneath a wooden cart shaded by banana leaves, sat a little baby monkey named Lalu. His tiny belly growled softly, and his wide eyes sparkled with longing. He hadn’t eaten since morning, and his weak little limbs trembled from hunger.
Then, he saw it.
On a low wooden shelf nearby, neatly arranged in a row, sat ten bottles of fresh milk—cool, creamy, and glowing white in the warm sunlight. The scent drifted toward Lalu’s twitching nose. He crept forward just a little, his gaze locked on the bottles as if they were the most precious treasure in the world.
Lalu sat down, curled his tail around his feet, and stared.
One bottle… two… ten…
His little mouth parted slightly, and a tiny drool slipped down his chin. His eyes shimmered with desperate hunger, but he didn’t move. He knew the milk belonged to the shopkeeper, and he was just a baby—helpless, small, and afraid to steal.
People walked past without noticing the pitiful scene: a tiny monkey, staring at the milk with such pure longing it could break a heart.
A kind old woman finally saw him. Her eyes softened. She knelt down, opened her bag, and pulled out a small banana soaked in milk. Gently, she placed it near Lalu.
He looked up at her, then slowly crept forward, sniffing. He took the food in his hands and began to eat with grateful eyes, his hunger slowly easing.
Lalu’s pitiful gaze turned into one of comfort—just for a moment. He was no longer invisible.
And the ten bottles of milk still sat on the shelf, untouched—but no longer needed.
