I first saw her at sunrise, warm golden light spilling through the ancient stones, birds calling softly in the vast Angkor Wat forest. A small creature—skinny, trembling, yet alive—emerged from the undergrowth. Baila. Her name came to me not from her owner, but from my heart when I saw the fearful look in her eyes. She had clearly been abandoned—perhaps lost, perhaps deliberately left behind. Yet even abandoned, her longing for comfort remained.
She stood uncertain, ears flicking, eyes locked on the group of tourists trailing behind me, their cameras poised. I paused, heart pounding—not to disturb her, yet powerless to leave her shivering alone. Slowly, the tourists knelt, offering gentle pats, soft words, even the lightest of hugs. To my amazement, Baila responded. Her thin tail thumped once, twice. She leaned forward, lips parting in what looked almost like a human smile, tongue flicking out in relief as if saying, “Thank you.”
I raised my camera, breath caught in my throat. Her lip-smacking response—it wasn’t about food, I sensed. It was her way of expressing gratitude, of tasting kindness again. I could almost hear her whisper in her soft pant, “I was forgotten… until now.”
The cameraman crouched beside me, eyes wet. He reached out, not with treats, but with quiet companionship. We let her lean into us. Her small body trembled—not from fear, but from the magnitude of emotions she’d carried alone. “You’re safe,” he murmured, voice low. The connection between them—a bridge built of empathy, built in that moment—was profound.
Around us, the forest seemed to hold its breath. The towering temple stones softened in dawn’s gentle glow. Baila pressed closer, seeking solace. Tourists lowered their cameras, offering arms instead—human warmth in a place that had seen centuries pass. I stayed for a long while, watching her find comfort not in a home, but in a shared moment of compassion.
When we finally rose, preparing to continue our journey through the temple’s silent corridors, Baila followed us—more bold, more trusting. I thought: perhaps her true home isn’t an owner who abandoned her, but hearts that open to her suffering. I left her with a promise in my mind: to help—through story, through rescue, through reminding others that even forgotten creatures can find solace in love.
