I was walking home from my procedure. The subway was crowded, full of noise, conversation, people’s bags, and tired faces. No one seemed to notice anyone. I was lucky enough to get a seat—a seat right by the door. It was a little gift from fate that day.

I pulled my hood tighter, trying to hide my hair—or what was left of it. The last round of chemotherapy had been particularly hard. There was a weakness in my body that didn’t leave me day or night. Even the air seemed to get heavier, and every breath was an effort.

At the next station an older woman entered the carriage with a boy who was maybe six years old. He immediately sat down in one of the last empty seats, and she stayed standing next to me. She looked at me for a moment, then sighed heavily and said:

— Girl, please step aside. I can hardly stand.

I looked up at her. I’d like to believe my gaze wasn’t rude, just tired. I replied quietly,

– I’m sorry… I can’t. If you don’t mind, have the boy give up his seat for you.

The woman frowned. She clearly hadn’t expected such an answer. After a moment, her voice grew louder:

— But you’re young! Where’s the respect for your elders? A child is a child, and you’re sitting there as if everything was allowed to you!

There was a murmur all around. Someone shook their head, someone muttered something under their breath. Everyone started looking at me—with condemnation, with incomprehension. I felt a familiar feeling rise in my chest—not regret, not anger, but pain. Not physical, but the kind that made a lump rise in my throat.

I realized that there was no way to avoid an explanation. I had to say something.

I slowly reached for my hood, took it off, and said, trying to keep my voice steady:

“I have cancer. I’m just coming back from chemotherapy. It’s hard not because I don’t want to stand, but because I can’t. I’m not looking for sympathy… I’m just asking you not to scream.”

The car fell silent. The woman froze, then looked away suddenly. She mumbled something indistinct, took the boy by the hand, and got off… not even at her station.

I pulled my hood back up and looked out the window. In the reflection, I saw my tired but calm self. Someone next to me quietly said, “Hang in there.” Someone else simply nodded.

I will remember this situation for a long time. Not because someone yelled at me – that can be dealt with. But because it reminded me that we often draw conclusions without knowing the whole story. We judge by appearance, age, one look. And behind each such journey, behind each face, there is a whole world that we have no idea about.

Now, whenever I see someone sad, silent, or “unkind,” I try first to simply understand. And maybe give that person what many of us lack—a little patience and kindness.