Hanu dangled from a branch outside the new tree-school. His toes gripped the bark. A fluttering ribbon vine swung past his nose.
"Not today, vine," he whispered — but the vine tickled his chin anyway. He squeaked, nearly letting go. Three brave leaps sent him flying toward the Bridge of Tickling Vines.
He landed hard on his belly. The bridge was too bouncy, too wiggly, too ticklish. A tiny frog hopped up. "The bridge won't let anyone cross until someone makes it laugh," it croaked.
Hanu tried everything — poking vines with a stick, doing a wobbly dance, telling a joke. Nothing worked. The bridge stayed stiff and grumpy.
A crack appeared in a hollow log. Three baby monkeys tumbled out, tripping over their own feet. "We're scared too," said the biggest one. They held hands and faced the bridge together.
They took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge together. The last vine twitched — then ERUPTED into a shower of golden flower petals. Everyone burst into giggles.
"Come on!" the biggest monkey called. Hanu scrambled to his feet, dragging his giggling friends toward the school entrance. The door swung wide open.
Hanu sat at his new desk, still grinning. Through the window, the Bridge of Tickling Vines curled peacefully in the breeze like a contented cat.
