When I stepped on the hotel elevator on the second floor, the only other person inside was a twenty-something woman. She was crying but working hard to not. Yet she couldn’t stop. I have been there — something hurts so badly you can’t control the emotion, even when you’re in a public place and you feel embarrassed at not being able to stop.

I paused briefly to look at her, unsure whether to ignore her and mind my own business to my 14th floor room. I noticed she’d pushed the 6th floor button so I knew we wouldn’t share this space long.

But ignoring someone in pain did not seem the right thing to do. I had no idea what caused such agony and had no idea if she had someone to comfort her on floor 6. But when I see human pain like this up close, I feel compelled to act.

“Can I give you a hug?” I asked.

She nodded yes.

So I hugged her until we arrived on the 6th floor, without saying a word. Whatever awkwardness there was from two strangers silently hugging was dissipated by being authentic with each other in real time.

The elevator stopped at 6 and she exited. I never saw her again.

Later, I wondered if I should have reached out further: “Do you have someone to talk to in your room? Or someone you can call?” Then, if she said no, would I have felt compelled to be the one she poured out her angst to? Would I then be embroiled in this stranger’s life when I had other things on my docket fo the day?

I’ll never know what caused her such strong emotion. But I am glad I offered the hug.