It was still early when I walked through the moss-covered stones of Angkor Wat’s forest edge. The air smelled of damp leaves, and the soft morning light filtered through the ancient trees. That’s when I heard the small rustle—gentle, almost shy.
Baila was there, sitting quietly under the roots of a sprawling fig tree. Her tiny hands held nothing, her big brown eyes glancing up at me, then away again. She’s been alone for days now, without a mother to groom her, feed her, or keep her warm at night.
I sat down slowly, not wanting to frighten her. From my bag, I pulled out the small bottle of warm milk I’d brought. The moment she saw it, her little body seemed to soften—hope flickered in her eyes. She climbed onto my lap without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around mine as she drank.
Her breaths slowed. Her eyelids grew heavy. But I could see something else too—dried leaves tangled in her fur, dust clinging to her tiny arms. She needed more than food today. She needed care.
I filled a small basin with warm water, the steam rising into the cool morning air. At first, Baila hesitated. She pressed her head against my arm, unsure. But as I dipped my fingers in and let the water run gently over her fur, she relaxed.
Her little eyes closed. I used a soft cloth to wipe away the dirt from her cheeks, the crumbs from her tiny fingers. She let out a sigh that almost sounded like relief. I could feel her heartbeat slow, her trust growing with each touch.
Birdsong filled the forest canopy above us. Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell rang. Here, in this moment, it was just the two of us—me, the caretaker, and Baila, the baby who had been left behind but was learning she wasn’t alone anymore.
When I rinsed her tiny tail, she splashed playfully, almost smiling in her own little monkey way. For the first time in days, she looked not like a frightened orphan, but like a baby again—safe, cared for, and loved.
After the bath, I wrapped her in a small, soft towel. She nestled into my chest, her fur warm and clean. She smelled of fresh water and forest air. I could feel her breathing deepen, her tiny hands loosening their grip as sleep came.
In her dreams, maybe she was back with her mama. Or maybe she was in a new place entirely—one where hands always fed her, water was always warm, and no shadow meant danger.
I stayed still for a long time, not wanting to wake her. I thought about how fragile life is here in the forest. One wrong turn, one moment of separation, and a baby can lose everything. But I also thought about how powerful small acts of care can be—how feeding her milk, bathing her, holding her—those things could start to heal the invisible wounds she carries.
When she finally stirred, she looked up at me with those wide brown eyes again. This time, there was no fear. Just calm. Just trust.
The forest felt different now. The sunlight was brighter, the air warmer. Maybe it was just me—but I think Baila felt it too.
💛 If you want to witness this heartwarming moment, watch the video below and see how a little milk, warm water, and gentle hands can change everything for a baby monkey who’s lost her world.
