The following morning, her throat was sore.
She drank tea.
Then called her mother in New York.
Denise asked about school.
Nia told her about the delayed subway service but minimized the frightening parts of the emergency. She knew her mother worried whenever she mentioned something dangerous happening so far from home.
Denise listened.
Then asked whether anyone had been hurt.
"Some people needed help," Nia answered. "But the little girl I stayed with was okay."
Her mother paused.
"A little girl?"
Nia explained.
The crowded platform.
The separation.
And the song.
Denise grew quiet.
Then asked which song she sang.
Nia smiled.
"'Haru Haru.'"
Her mother laughed softly.
"Of course."
Nia raised one eyebrow.
"What does that mean?"
Denise smiled through the phone.
"Baby, you've been singing that song around the house since you were fourteen. I think I know it almost as well as you do."
Nia laughed.
Then her mother became serious.
"You stayed with her?"
"Until she was safe."
Denise's voice softened.
"I'm proud of you."
Nia stared toward the apartment window.
For a moment, the simple compliment felt more important than anything she'd accomplished at university.
Then her mother said something Nia would later remember.
"You never know which ordinary kindness somebody will carry with them for the rest of their life."
The emergency appeared in the local news for several days.
A technical failure had interrupted service and caused smoke in part of the station, prompting an evacuation and medical assessments for several passengers. Authorities investigated the equipment problem, while transportation officials reviewed how the crowd had responded to the disruption.
A short video circulated online.
It showed a young Black woman kneeling beside a frightened child while passengers waited near a station exit.
The woman's face was mostly obscured by a scarf and the shoulder of a responder standing nearby.
But her voice could be heard.
She was singing.
The clip lasted only eleven seconds.
Nia saw it once when a classmate shared it in their university group.
Someone had added a caption praising strangers who helped one another during emergencies.
The video received a few thousand views.
Then other news replaced it.
Nia didn't share it.
She didn't want strangers contacting her or turning a frightening moment into a performance.
She thought about Soo-bin occasionally, wondering whether the little girl had recovered and whether she'd found her father.
But the school term was busy.
Assignments accumulated.
And her fellowship required constant work.
Four days later, her mother suffered a stroke.
Everything changed.