A man survives alone in a sealed glass house. His days follow a strict pattern: chess against himself, a can of sardines, and humming Chopin into the silence. He reads, remembers, and lives among flickering visions of his wife and child – ghosts of a happy life. The only thing pulling him from these waking dreams is changing the oxygen filters. It keeps him alive, but reminds him of all he’s lost. One day, a light appears on the horizon. Silent. Steady. Is it real, or just madness? And with the light, his wife and child vanish. Now that he’s truly alone, is life in the glass box a sanctuary or a tomb? Then the light begins to blink. Morse code? A call? He rises, steps into a small boat, and rows toward it. The Light is a wordless meditation on memory, grief, and what might await when we let go