Good People Still Exist

Good People Still Exist

That morning, I took the subway to Manhattan as usual.

Maybe because I had stayed up late writing the night before, I fell asleep in my seat. Half-awake, half-dreaming, I didn’t realize we had reached my stop.

It was only when the subway doors were about to close did I suddenly wake up.

I jumped up from my seat and rushed out of the car as if sprinting a hundred meters.

The slowly closing doors nearly caught my left hand.

As the train pulled away—first slowly, then faster and faster—I stood there, frozen. My heart was still racing. For a moment, I couldn’t move.

I blamed myself deeply.

I had taken the subway to and from work for more than ten years, and I had never embarrassed myself like this before. I felt clumsy, careless, and strangely ashamed.

After standing there for a while, I forced myself to calm down and started walking.

Suddenly, a sharp thought hit me.

I looked down at my hands.

They were empty.

“My books and my mail!”, I blurted out loud.

In an instant, I broke into a cold sweat.

I’m not exaggerating—I’ve always been timid and bad at handling unexpected situations. And this was the New York subway: endless lines, countless identical train cars, crowds of people. My English isn’t very good, either.

The train I had been on was long gone.

Where could I possibly begin to look for the books and packages I had left behind?

My mind was in complete chaos as I stood there, trying to think of a solution.

The books were borrowed from a library in Chinatown.

The mail contained products I needed to ship for my e-commerce business.

I imagined only two possibilities:

Either someone would keep them, or someone would turn them in to subway staff or the police.

Eventually, I decided to stop thinking about it.

Work was more important. The total value of what I had lost wasn’t even worth a day’s wages. It didn’t make sense to ask my boss for time off just to chase after lost items.

I told myself I could pay for the books if necessary.

As for the packages, I could simply ship them again.

What was lost was already lost. Worrying wouldn’t change anything.

I tried to accept it and move on.

After work, I went straight to the library.

When I passed the post office next door, I felt a surge of regret. If I hadn’t lost the packages, I could have mailed them then and there. By tomorrow, they would already be on their way out of New York.

At the library’s service desk, I told the staff that I had lost the books I borrowed and was ready to pay according to the rules. I handed over my library card.

As she scanned it, the staff member said casually,

“How could you be so careless? Those books are quite big.”

The scanner beeped.

She looked at the computer screen, paused, and then said,

“You’re very lucky. Someone has already returned the books for you.”

I almost couldn’t believe my ears.

“Someone returned the books I lost?” I asked, needing confirmation.

“Yes,” she replied. “You met a good person.”

As if she herself had done the good deed, I looked at her and said, almost incoherently,

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Walking out of the library, my heart felt as if it had been filled with honey—sweet, warm, and light. I even allowed myself a hopeful thought:

If this kind stranger had taken the trouble to return the books to the library, maybe they had also dropped my packages off at the post office. After all, the library and the post office were right next to each other.

When I got home, I turned on my computer immediately and logged into my e-commerce platform to check the shipping status.

A green indicator appeared on the screen.

My packages had already left New York—safe and sound.

To the stranger I will never meet, whose face I will never know, I can only offer my gratitude in silence.

In my heart, I whispered a simple wish:

May good people be safe and well, all their lives.