At exactly one minute ago—according to the kind of internet timestamp that is never wrong and never exaggerates—the James Webb Space Telescope allegedly turned its attention toward Proxima Centauri b and appeared to hesitate. Because something down there flickered, briefly and irregularly, like a hallway light in an apartment building where the landlord has stopped answering emails, and Earth’s collective brain immediately dissolved into noise. The headline practically wrote itself, because nothing fuels clicks like the phrase artificial lights combined with the suggestion that humanity might not be alone—and might, in fact, be living next door to a civilization that mastered electricity without first inventing social media. The rumor spread faster than an unmuted press conference, helped along by the inconvenient fact that Proxima b sits just 4.2 light-years away, which in cosmic terms is basically across the street.

Suddenly everyone had an opinion, from astrophysicists to podcast philosophers to that one cousin who is still convinced the Moon landing was filmed behind a warehouse. They all said the same thing in slightly different fonts: James Webb may have just caught an alien civilization forgetting to close the curtains. According to breathless summaries bouncing through social feeds like caffeinated electrons, the telescope detected unusual infrared signatures that did not neatly match simple natural explanations, which is science’s polite way of saying “that’s odd.” That was enough for the internet to slap the label artificial lights on the data like a warning sticker on a suspicious toaster.

Before NASA could even warm up its cautious-language generator, reactions flooded in. One unnamed space expert was quoted as saying that if the signals were what some people thought they were, then congratulations—humanity just discovered neighbors who probably do not care about your Wi-Fi password. Of course, the word artificial was doing an incredible amount of heavy lifting. It conjured glowing alien cities, neon skylines, and extraterrestrial rush-hour traffic, even though the actual data—quiet, unglamorous, and graph-shaped—pointed only to fluctuating infrared emissions that could be consistent with energy usage patterns if you squinted hard enough and believed deeply.

This escalation hit harder because Proxima b already had a reputation. It was the most Earth-like exoplanet we know of, orbiting within the habitable zone of a red dwarf star, long debated as a possible home for liquid water or, at the very least, a stubborn atmosphere clinging on through stellar flares. Until now, the discussion hovered around microbes and chemistry. The internet, however, skipped directly to condos with mood lighting.

The reactions were immediate and unrestrained. One viral clip featured a self-described astro-futurist declaring that the signals proved aliens had electricity and therefore almost certainly better music-streaming algorithms. Another warned that artificial lights imply artificial intentions, which sounded ominous until viewers noticed he sold survival kits through a link in his bio. Actual astronomers attempted to slow the spiral, explaining that auroras, volcanic activity, or unusual atmospheric chemistry could also produce strange light patterns. This explanation was swiftly bulldozed by the far more compelling idea that an alien teenager forgot to turn off the bedroom lamp.

Then came the twist that every internet mystery requires: a leaked quote, allegedly from a Webb insider, claiming the signal showed periodicity. In other words, it blinked. Patterns make humans lose their minds faster than silence ever could, because blinking suggests intention, intention suggests intelligence, and intelligence suggests someone somewhere might be rolling their eyes at us right now. Tabloids ran with it like it was Black Friday at an alien mall. Hollywood producers were rumored to be Googling Proxima b weather forecasts. Fake experts appeared instantly, as if summoned by the word blink. One claimed the lights indicated a civilization slightly more advanced than ours but still relatable enough to enjoy reality television. Another insisted it was a planetary defense system, which is a bold conclusion to draw from a few pixels.

Public reaction followed its familiar five-stage cycle: disbelief, excitement, memes, existential dread, and then more memes. Jokes spread faster than explanations—alien HOA fees, alien Starbucks locations, debates about whether Proxima b aliens argue online about whether Earth exists. Skeptics eventually arrived, pointing out that the telescope does not literally see light bulbs and that interpreting data from over four light-years away is like diagnosing a neighbor’s lifestyle through a foggy window with binoculars. Even they could not fully kill the vibe, because artificial lights is simply too delicious a phrase to resist.

NASA eventually released a statement. It was careful, responsible, and almost completely ignored. Further analysis is required. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. The internet heard “extraordinary claims” and stopped listening at “evidence.” If confirmed, this would represent the first indirect hint of technological activity beyond Earth, instantly eclipsing every grainy UFO video ever filmed next to a cornfield. Philosophers dusted off their microphones. Conspiracy corners went into overdrive. Governments were accused of hiding the truth. Others insisted the lights had just turned on because James Webb was watching, which was both flattering and unsettling.

Through it all, the science remained stubbornly slow. Confirmation would take repeated observations, careful spectral analysis, and patience—none of which trend. The narrative raced ahead anyway, fueled by rumor and imagination. Some people celebrated not being alone. Others panicked about neighbors with better technology. Optimists imagined interstellar friendship. Pessimists imagined interstellar noise complaints.

And so Proxima Centauri b became, once again, the most famous exoplanet on the internet: a place we cannot reach, cannot clearly see, and cannot stop projecting onto. If the lights turn out to be natural, the memes will move on and the experts will sigh. Humanity will keep staring into the dark, waiting for the next flicker—because whether it is alien cities or just a very enthusiastic aurora, we have already decided that the universe feels much more interesting when it almost looks back.