he heat was so thick the air itself seemed to shimmer.
Tourists wandered lazily along the paths, snapping photos, buying coconuts.
Emma held her phone in one hand, trying to catch a signal — somewhere between the palms, the internet lived a life of its own.
The sun pressed against her crown, sweat glistening on her skin.
She sat down on the railing near an old temple, turned on the camera, and aimed it at a troop of monkeys.
Small, bold, bright-eyed — they looked like creatures from another world: free, cheeky, perfectly alive.
“Oh, look at that one,” she said to the guy beside her. “She’s got the same face as my barista on a Monday morning.”
Then everything happened fast.
The monkey leapt — snatched the phone right out of her hand — and climbed onto the statue of Buddha.
Emma screamed, the guy burst out laughing. Other tourists grabbed their cameras — the show had officially gone live.
“Hey! That’s mine!” Emma shouted, clapping her hands.
The monkey looked down, clutching the phone to her chest, and — unmistakably — smirked.
Then, deliberately, she pressed something on the screen.
The phone flashed, the shutter clicked — and the monkey took… a selfie.
The crowd erupted. Applause, whistles, laughter.
A guide waved a banana in the air, someone threw peanuts, someone else offered to buy Emma a new phone.
She stood beneath the tree, half furious, half amused, staring upward.
The monkey calmly scrolled through the gallery — finger, face, tail, Emma below with a look of pure disbelief.
“So what now?” the guy asked.
“Now,” Emma sighed, “I’m officially a primate’s content manager.”
They both laughed.
Ten minutes later, the monkey climbed lower.
The guide held out a mango — in return, she tossed the phone down.
The screen was cracked, but the camera still worked.
Emma picked it up, opened the gallery — and saw the last photo:
the monkey holding the phone toward her, with the sunset behind, leaves framing her face as she looked up.
She never deleted that picture.
Sometimes, on the subway, she’d open it again and smile.
There was something in it that couldn’t be planned —
a wild coincidence where, for once, she wasn’t just the observer.
After all, maybe the monkey had simply done what people rarely dare to do:
took something that shone, looked at herself —
and gave it back, asking for nothing in return.
