The Buzzer at 2:37

The buzzer went off again tonight. 2:37, same as the last three nights, that flat electric bleat from the panel by my door that means someone downstairs is holding the button for 4B.

I'm not 4B. I've been 4B for five months.

I checked the camera the first night. Nobody there, just the empty vestibule and the mail wall. I told myself it's the delivery app, some ghost order still routing to the old tenant's name, a glitch that will fix itself once enough packages bounce back.

Second night I didn't get up. Third night I got up anyway and stood by the door not opening it, phone flashlight on, listening for footsteps on the stairs that never came.

Tonight I looked up the name on the buzzer panel before it stopped. Priya. Whoever's buzzing for Priya has been buzzing for five months and hasn't noticed she doesn't answer.

I keep telling my sister living alone is the best decision I've made all year. I believe that during the day.

At 2:37 I lie here with my phone unlocked, location shared with someone who isn't awake to see it, listening to make sure the sound doesn't move from the panel to the hallway. I don't know if it's a courier who can't read a label, or somebody a few floors down testing which doors still open for a name nobody's home to answer to.