When the teenage years hit, they often come uninvited – and with a backpack full of insecurities.For me, it began with mirrors. I’ve always been self-conscious about the way I look – my height, my skin and especially the marks on my hands and legs caused by a condition called papular urticaria. It’s common, yes, but the scars? They stay. They never really go away, no matter how many ointments or remedies I’ve tried.Growing up, I learned early on that the world has a very selective parameter when it comes to beauty. People have passed comments. Some direct, some disguised as advice, but all carrying the same message – I didn’t quite fit the mould. Slowly, I began to avoid wearing the clothes I once loved. I started hiding parts of me that I thought weren’t “beautiful enough”. Concealer became my shield. I carried it everywhere. It was more than just makeup. it was my silent way of coping, of blending in.Then came a family function. We had called in a makeup artist, and I had mentally prepared myself for the usual reaction. In the past, almost every makeup artist or beautician I had encountered made me feel uncomfortable. Some would stare too long, others would whisper to their assistants, and a few would offer sympathy that didn’t feel genuine. I had stopped expecting kindness.This time, I was ready with my concealer tucked in my hand, just in case…But something unexpected happened.As she began her work, she saw me uncomfortable and I handed my concealer to her to cover the marks. The makeup artist paused for a moment, gently touched the marks on my hands, and said, “This is a part of you. How long will you keep hiding it? Concealer can cover it for a day – but every day? Who said this makes you look any less beautiful? Accept yourself the way you are.”That sentence”accept yourself the way you are” hit me like a warm wave. Not because it was dramatic or poetic, but because of how simply she said it. No forced sympathy, no judgement. Just kindness. Quiet, genuine and honest.Maybe she didn’t think much of it. Maybe she says things like that often. But to me, her words planted something deeper.They gave me permission to see myself not through filters or flaws, but with softness. I’m still on that journey – acceptance doesn’t happen overnight. But that day, I took my first step. And I’ll always remember that it began not with a speech or a life-changing event, but with a few sentences from a stranger who probably doesn’t even know what she did for me.Since then, I’ve tried to remind myself and others: If you can’t make someone feel good, at least don’t make them feel worse. We all have our own battles, our own tender places that we try to protect from the world. And kindness – it truly costs nothing.That makeup artist will probably never know the impact she had on me. But I do. And I hope, in small ways, I can pass that kindness forward.Baisakhi Bhattacharya is a Mass Communication and Journalism student at Visva-Bharati, passionate about storytelling and the small moments that shape life.We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.Read the series here.