Last Saturday afternoon, I took the metro to the city centre to buy a birthday card for my aunt. The station was crowded, and I checked my phone several times because my brother kept sending messages about the family party. After I left the station, I stopped at a small bookshop and then walked to a café near the square.

When I wanted to pay for a bottle of water, I could not find my phone in my bag or in my coat pocket. I felt worried immediately. I went outside and looked back along the street, but there were too many people. My phone had my bank app, my photos, and the address of my aunt’s apartment.

A few minutes later, a man about fifty came out of the bookshop and asked, “Did you lose a phone?” He explained that he had seen it on the floor near the door. Because the screen was still on, he answered one of my brother’s calls and told him where we were.

My brother arrived soon, and I showed the man a photo of myself on the lock screen to prove the phone was mine. He smiled, gave it back, and refused any money. I thanked him again and again. That day taught me two things: I should be more careful, and kind strangers still exist.