It begins with a gesture so small it barely registers: a fingertip grazing a screen, shifting a smart bulb from sterile white to sunset peach. The room warms, not just in hue but in mood, as if the light itself were a balm for the day’s emotional residue. In this moment, light becomes more than illumination. It becomes a form of self-regulation, a curated atmosphere, a silent companion. We have grown accustomed to this control, to the idea that light should respond to our moods, mirror our in...