Hearts Without Words

In a quiet corner of the countryside, far from the noise of city life, there was a small, sun-kissed farm where time seemed to slow down. The fields stretched gently under the sky, and a humble wooden barn stood peacefully among the trees. It was a place where the wind whispered instead of roared, and the earth welcomed every footstep with softness.

Here, a group of hens lived happily, clucking softly as they pecked grains from the soil. Their lives were simple—rising with the sun, resting with the moon, and spending their days scratching the ground in contentment. For them, the world was safe and familiar.

But one day, something changed.

A monkey appeared.

No one knew where he had come from. Some said he had escaped from a traveling circus; others believed he had wandered from the forest nearby. Whatever the reason, he looked tired, hungry, and a little lost. His fur was dusty, and his eyes carried the weight of stories untold. When he first entered the farmyard, the hens panicked and scattered, flapping their wings in fear. He didn’t chase them, didn’t screech or jump—he just sat near a large rock, folded his arms around his knees, and watched the sunset.

The farmer, an old man with a kind heart and little interest in questions, didn’t chase the monkey away. He simply said, “Let him be. Maybe he’s searching for peace.”

In the days that followed, the monkey stayed. He didn’t cause trouble. He slept under the tree near the barn, ate fruit that fell from the trees, and sometimes quietly watched the hens as they moved about. Slowly, the hens grew used to his presence. One brave hen, named Bibi by the farmer’s granddaughter, was the first to go near him. She pecked at the ground beside him and clucked softly. The monkey looked at her with calm eyes, stretched out his hand, and gently dropped a few grains in front of her. That was their beginning.

Then came the pigeon.

One morning, as the monkey sat silently near the hens, a soft fluttering sound broke the air. A white-and-grey pigeon landed on the wooden fence that ran along the yard. Unlike the hens, she didn’t seem afraid of the monkey. In fact, she looked at him curiously, tilted her head, and cooed. The monkey looked up and gave a slow blink, as if to say hello. She stayed.

Over time, something beautiful began to grow among these three unlikely creatures. The monkey would share fruits with the pigeon and the hens. The hens, once fearful, now moved freely around him. The pigeon would perch on the monkey’s shoulder or rest on the rock beside him. There were no words between them, of course—just gestures, glances, and quiet companionship.

They became a trio that didn’t belong together in any ordinary story, but fit perfectly in this one. The farmer’s granddaughter, Amina, would watch them with wide eyes and say, “They’re like a family.”

There were no rules in their bond, no expectations. When one was tired, the others sat close. When one ate, the others joined. When one was sad, they stayed near in silence.

And one rainy evening, that silence spoke louder than ever.

The wind had picked up, and the skies cried with thunder. The animals had taken shelter. The hens huddled under the barn’s wooden awning, and the pigeon fluttered to a beam above them. The monkey, however, was outside, trying to reach a small hen who had been left behind and was trembling in fear under a tree. Without hesitation, he ran through the rain, picked her up gently, and carried her to safety.

The next morning, when the skies cleared, the yard was soaked, but the animals were safe. The little hen, saved by the monkey, nestled close to him. The pigeon landed beside them, and the hens clucked in a rhythm that felt almost like gratitude.

No one cheered. No one spoke. But in that silent moment—under the morning sun, with rain still dripping from the leaves—there was a feeling. A bond that needed no words. A bond that grew from kindness, trust, and the quiet understanding that friendship does not require similarity.

It just requires a heart.

And in that small corner of the world, a monkey, a pigeon, and a group of hens showed that the loudest stories are sometimes written in silence.