"I want to go back to the enclosure."

The words left my mouth before I could second-guess them.

Silence stretched across the room.

Mother’s hands paused mid-motion over the dishes, her eyes flicking toward me. My father, seated across the table, exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming against the wood.

Lina, chewing on a piece of fruit, glanced up, blinking. "Why?" she asked.

I swallowed. "Because I have to."

Mother set the dish down. "Akul, you don’t have to rush—"

"I know," I cut in. "But I want to."

Her lips pressed together.

"You don’t have to go alone," she said after a moment. "I’ll come with you."

I shook my head. "No, Mom, I—"

She raised a hand. "It’s not up for debate. I’ll be there to help you, to make sure you—"

Father chuckled. "Leina, let the boy go."

Mother shot him a glare. "Hector, he’s—"

"He’s ready," Father said simply.

She turned back to me, uncertainty flickering across her face. "Akul…"

I softened. "Mom, I appreciate it, really. But I need to do this on my own."

Her jaw tensed like she wanted to argue, but after a long pause, she sighed.

"Fine," she relented. "But if anything happens—

"I’ll handle it," I assured her.

Father grinned. "That’s my boy."

Mother, still reluctant, finally nodded. "Alright," she said. "But be careful."

I nodded back.

Careful.

I was sure I would not let "That" repeat ever again.

The path to the enclosure felt longer than before.

Bobo clung tightly to my shoulder, his grip firm, his body tense.

I ran a hand over his fur. "You okay?"

He didn’t chirp. He just stared ahead.

I understood.

The last time we were here…

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I clenched my fists.

I forced my feet to keep moving.

The entrance loomed ahead, the wooden gates slightly ajar. I could already hear the familiar calls of the monkeys inside.

A part of me wanted to turn around.

But I didn’t.

I told Bobo to go inside my tunic for now.

Bobo shifted beneath my tunic, his small body pressed against my chest. I could feel his tiny heartbeat, the warmth of his fur, the slight twitch of his tail.

He was nervous.

So was I.

I ran a hand over the fabric, as if reassuring him. "Just stay put for now, alright?"

He didn’t make a sound.

I understood.

The last time we were here…

I didn't want to let my mind linger on it.

I forced my feet forward.

The entrance loomed ahead, the wooden gates slightly ajar. The familiar sounds of monkeys filled the air.

Then—

I stepped through.

The moment I did—

A wave of memories crashed into me.

The screams.

The growls.

The chaos.

Bobo, tiny and desperate, buried under a swarm of biting, clawing bodies.

Blood staining the dirt.

I froze.

Bobo tensed against me.

For a moment, my breath felt tight, my chest constricting like a vice.

Then—

Movement.

A flicker of motion from the trees.

A group of monkeys leaped down.

Rushing toward me.

I didn’t move.

I should have.

But I didn't.

Instead—

I looked.

They stopped.

I tensed.

They sniffed.

Their movements hesitated.

Just a foot away.

Their ears twitched, nostrils flaring as they took in my scent again.

I held my breath.

And then—

They pounced.

But in joy.

The hesitation vanished, replaced by the same rough, playful energy they always had.

They chomped at me, nudged my arms, tugged my sleeves—just like before.

Like nothing had changed.

Like it was just another day, like I had never left.

A lump formed in my throat.

I didn’t realize how much I had been afraid to come back.

Afraid of what? I couldn't even tell.

Maybe afraid that they would attack. Afraid that I had lost them.

But, They still saw me as their own.

I laughed.

And then—

Bobo.

Their eyes flicked over me—then darted to the bundle under my tunic.

Some were already curious trying to see what it was.

Bobo stiffened.

I swallowed.

It was time.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted the fabric.

Bobo’s tiny head peeked out, his ears twitching, his round eyes wide and alert.

The air shifted.

The monkeys went still.

I took a deep breath—

And then, gently, I lifted Bobo into my hands.

Holding him securely, I raised him just slightly—

A presentation. A careful introduction.

A silent statement.

This is Bobo. He is mine. He is family.

I held my breath.

The monkeys stared.

The older ones froze.

The younger ones leaned forward slightly, ears perked.

Bobo’s small fingers clung to me, uncertain.

Then—

The first reaction came.

A sharp, startled chirp from one of the juveniles.

Then another.

A ripple of shock.

They watched.

They analyzed.

One of them took a slow step forward.

Bobo tensed.

My grip tightened slightly, just in case—

He sniffed the air.

Then—

He reached out.

A strike? A bite?

My heart raced up.

Tap.

A gentle tap.

Like an introduction.

Like an apology.

Bobo hesitated.

Then—

He reached back.

A small, slow exchange.

And just like that—

The tension broke.

The monkeys swarmed him.

Not to attack.

But to accept.

They chomped, rolled, playfully tackled—just like they had always done with me.

Bobo yelped in surprise—then chirped in response.

I felt the tightness in my chest finally ease.

They didn’t hate him.

They never did.

I should have introduced him properly from the start.

I clenched my jaw.

This was my fault.

Bobo had tried to come to me.

And because I had left him alone—because I hadn’t thought ahead—

He had nearly been torn apart.

I exhaled.

This moment didn’t erase what had happened.

But at least…

It made it a little lighter.

I scratched the back of my neck, watching as Bobo wrestled with the others, a small smile forming on my lips.

This was how it should have been from the start.

This was what I should have done.

I would make sure that from now on—

I got it right.