Leave On Light

Leave On Light

Some lights are not for the room… they’re for the heart."..

It was past midnight when Sameer finally closed his laptop. His small apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing by on the street below. He rubbed his tired eyes and stood up, ready to head to bed.

As he walked toward his bedroom, his hand reached for the light switch in the hallway — then he hesitated. He had been raised to switch off lights when leaving a room, to save electricity. But tonight, something strange pulled him back.

He thought about his grandmother.

When Sameer was a child, she always left the porch light on, even when everyone was asleep. He used to ask her, "Dadi, why waste electricity like this?" She would smile, her wrinkled eyes soft.

"Some lights are not for the room. They’re for the heart. One day, you’ll understand."

At the time, he didn’t understand. But lately, he’d been thinking about it a lot.

Sameer lived alone now. No family in the city. Friends were scattered, busy with their own lives. The apartment, neat and quiet, sometimes felt like a shell — shelter without warmth.

That night, he decided to leave the hallway light on.

---

Hours later, a loud knock woke him. Groggy, he checked his phone — 2:41 a.m. His first thought was that something bad had happened. He hurried to the door and peered through the peephole.

A man stood there, soaked from the rain, his face pale.

“Sorry… I saw your light on,” the man said when Sameer opened the door slightly. “My car broke down and my phone is dead. Can I… just make a call?”

Sameer hesitated for a second. City life teaches you caution. But something in the man’s voice — the way it trembled, as if it carried more than just cold — made him step aside.

The man made his call quickly, thanking him over and over. His name was Rafiq, a delivery driver who’d been stuck for nearly an hour, trying to get help.

Before leaving, Rafiq glanced at the glowing hallway light and said quietly, “If your light wasn’t on, I’d have kept walking. Looked like… no one was awake.”

Sameer felt something shift inside him.

---

Days passed. The hallway light became a quiet ritual. Sometimes, when he came home late, it greeted him with a soft glow — as if the apartment was saying, Welcome back.

One evening, he bumped into his neighbor, Mrs. Kapoor, a widow in her late 70s. She smiled shyly and said, “You know, I sleep better these days. That light of yours… it makes the hallway less lonely.”

Sameer didn’t know what to say. He just smiled back....

---

Months later, on a rainy night much like the one when Rafiq appeared, Sameer returned home to find a small note taped to his door.

> "Thank you for leaving a light on. It helped me more than you know. – A Neighbor"

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t matter. He realized the light wasn’t just for him anymore — it was for anyone who might pass by feeling lost, tired, or alone.

---

Years later, Sameer would tell his own children the same thing his grandmother once told him:

"Some lights are not for the room. They’re for the heart."

And every night, without fail, he would still leave one on.

---

Moral: Sometimes, a small act of kindness you barely notice can become the lifeline someone else needs. ..

..

.

0

P