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A wise soul once said, we truly donot know what fate has in store for us and when the stars of our fate will align to take us on a journey unbeknownst to us. This holds true for me when I chanced upon the opportunity to visit my father in the brimming city of New York, a land of infinite possibilities. But as a modest practising Muslim, who wears a head scarf, traveling to US when the times were proving tough for Muslims in the west, I was apprehensive. Instances of hijab-wearing girls being attacked and violence against Muslims rising, I knew that during my stay abroad I had to stay alert amidst the colorful distractions. All worries left my mind though, when I first set out on a late night venture into the city, with its concrete structures and antiquated architecture. Even at the late hours of night, the city was wide awake, with lit megascreens and kaleidoscope of images dancing on the jumbotrons, the time square resembled one big carnival fest. Needless to say, New York completely swept me off my feet, my earlier fears long forgotten and my mind filled with the yearning to take in all the city had to offer. Of everything I expected of the city, I did not put much faith in the soulful generosity and sensitivity of its people and wrote it off as a place that had abandoned its solicitude for the sake of fast-paced progress, where kindness was an outmoded practise, obsolete. I anticipated everything that constituted the hype surrounding NYC, the culinary assortments, the bursting diversity, the sense of ultramodern indulgences interspersed with hidden treasures of vintage venues and artisan establishments, a marriage between the old and the new, but the kindness and warmth this city holds within its edifices, I did not expect. The kindness of that one woman who greeted us and offered to take a picture of me and my sister against a colorful graffiti-ridden wall, neither bothered nor intimidated by my religious garb and traditional attire. The kindness of an elderly man, who was considerate enough to let us walk ahead of him and gave us way, making a light-hearted remark about him being a slow walker. The concern of a kind samaritan when my sister suffered a minor accident, extending his assistance when he sensed our distress. All of these only scratch the surface of the many positive and wholesome encounters I had with the locals, which restored my faith in humanity and dispelled any doubts I had regarding the coldness of New Yorkers. New York is celebrated as a city of hustle and bustle, with every moment holding the energy of a firework, but contrary to popular belief, it has the best bunch of warm hearted denizens, cheerful and merry and truly alive, who make your whole day with just their upbeat vivacity for life. A traveller who was worried for their safety and being subjected to racist hate, what welcomed was a breath of fresh air, a human experience to the core. For once, it felt good to be proven wrong.