Living in New York rarely provided comfortable commutes. It was considered lucky if it was a subway transporting you somewhere, but often that’s not the case. My commute was a train to a bus that brought me home. I hated this route, but it proved the fastest way to my destination.

Anxiety remained a present challenge in my return trip on its own. The hustled culture of the New York environment ate away at my nervous system. Every day, I felt thankful when I reached my train stop. The bus proved easier than the rest of my commute; it was predictable.

As I walked toward the exit of my station one evening, I could hear the rush of rain up ahead. This didn’t sound like an inconvenient drizzle. It was a storm without a definitive end. I paused at the exit to check my bag for an umbrella and found nothing. I had a choice: remain where I disliked being or brave the rain.

Fear of my surroundings decided for me. I trudged up the stairs, out to the street, and instantly regretted it the moment I left the confines of coverage. Wind-driven rain lashed my face. Disorientation increased my nervousness tenfold, but I needed to reach the bus stop to end my trek home. Despite the short walk to my next destination, I didn’t get there unscathed.

I arrived at the stand drenched after walking less than a block. My hunched shoulders and crossed arms served as a poor defense against the downpour. But it was a futile attempt to stay dry. Pacing back and forth, I peered down at my phone, trying to see when the next bus would arrive. It wouldn’t be for another 15 minutes. I reconciled with my defeat and waited impatiently.

A woman approached me, silently shielded me with her umbrella, and remained there during our wait. It wasn’t uncommon for me to run into friends of my parents I didn’t know, so I thought she might have been one of them. A quick look at her face confirmed she was a perfect stranger. She had dark hair and dark eyes, but her stature was inviting. Despite never having met, she seemed like a friendly person.

The moment left me in awe. I’d never seen this person before, and she thought to help me. It was a small act of kindness, but it was a memorable one. I turned my head carefully so as not to ruin our coverage and said thank you. She nodded in response, indicating she got my point. The woman and I stood in chilly silence until the bus arrived. We boarded, she took a seat away from me, and I sat in mine.

This served as a much-needed kindness reminder. Sometimes, all it took was one example to restore your faith in humanity. Acts of kindness always challenged the idea that people were inherently selfish. There were kind people everywhere, including at your bus stop, ready to help.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero