The Light in Apartment 3B

Every night at exactly 9:17 PM, the light in Apartment 3B flicked on.

To most, it would’ve seemed normal. People turn lights on. But this light was different—because no one had lived in 3B for over two years. Not since Mrs. Lillian Harper passed away in her sleep.

She was 91. Quiet, kind, always offered cinnamon cookies to the building kids. Everyone loved her. After her death, the apartment was sealed, untouched. The management said her only living relative never came to collect anything—not even the photo albums or her old piano.

Still, without fail, that lamp in the front window turned on every single night.

Jay noticed it in his first week living there. He worked late delivering for a food app, often coming home when most of the building was asleep. The light in 3B always caught his eye.

It didn’t feel eerie at first—more like a pattern. But when a massive storm knocked out the power for four hours across the city, Jay came home soaked… and saw the light was still on. The only one glowing on the entire block.

That’s when it stopped being a coincidence.

He started watching it. 9:17 PM on the dot, the soft yellow lamp lit up behind the dusty curtain. He recorded it one night with his phone. Nothing moved. No one passed the door. No shadows. Just—click—the light came on.

The next day, Jay asked the building super, an old man named Reggie.

“You sure nobody’s in 3B?” Jay asked.

Reggie squinted. “Absolutely. I got both keys. Only person who ever lived there was Mrs. Harper. Rest her soul. She had family but… they never came around. Why?”

Jay hesitated. “I think someone might be turning a light on in there.”

Reggie laughed. “Then it’s a ghost with good habits.”

But Jay couldn’t let it go.

One Thursday night, curiosity finally pushed him past the edge. Armed with his phone flashlight, he waited until everyone was asleep. Then, using an old lockpicking trick he learned on YouTube, he opened the door to 3B.

Dust danced in the air. The apartment smelled like forgotten memories—old perfume, worn books, time itself.

Everything was covered in plastic. Furniture, rugs, even the piano. But in the corner, by the window, stood a single lamp.

And it was on.

Jay stepped closer. His breath caught in his throat. The switch clicked as he reached for it—but no one was there. No cords, no batteries. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Confused, he turned toward the mantle above the fireplace. A photo sat there—black and white, faded at the edges. It showed a woman, Mrs. Harper, smiling warmly, cradling a baby in her arms.

The back of the photo had something written in gentle cursive:

For my grandson Jay. You were the light of my life. Love always, Grandma.

He froze.

Jay had been adopted at birth. Never met his biological family. The agency never gave him a name—just that his birth grandmother lived in the city.

His knees went weak. In that quiet room, full of stillness and time, something shifted inside him.

All this time… she’d been waiting. Somehow, some way, she knew he’d come. And every night, she turned on the light, hoping he’d see it.

He sat down on the covered couch, heart racing, tears blurring his vision.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d come home.

And every night after, at 9:17 PM, Jay turned on the light in Apartment 3B—not out of mystery, but out of love.

A light, after all, is just a sign someone’s waiting.