Look into their eyes and help us fill them with calm. Laudy and Jean have not been able to pay rent for nine months. The only option left to them is homelessness. We cannot—and will not—walk past them indifferently.

We met Laudy and Jean three years ago, when the world followed inhumane rules. No hugging was allowed, smiles and tears had to be hidden under disposable masks. Thank God, it was still possible to look people in the eyes. Back then, we fell into the gaze of Laudy and Jean like into a deep well. It held the sadness and fear of people counting every penny, yet also the warmth of someone who can still find joy in a cup of coffee shared with guests.

Jean greets us on the stairs leading to their building. He fears we won’t be able to find them in the concrete maze of Jounieh. He stands by the railing in a neatly pressed shirt and trousers, leading us inside. The apartment is modest and tiny. It smells of dignity. Everything has its place, and the kitchen—Laudy’s kingdom—shines like a precious gem. She cooks little because the fridge is empty. She would like to make us her signature dish but is happy to offer a fruit jelly instead. Everything is clean and simple. Beautiful. Only Laudy and Jean’s eyes reveal that something is not right.

Jean grows serious. His fingers nervously play with the edge of his pressed shirt. Laudy lowers her gaze, searching for a spoon, trying to stir in an already empty cup. Finally, one sentence falls. They lay it on the table like a stone:
“We haven’t paid rent for nine months.”

They don’t say it with shame, but with the resignation of people whose lives are pinned to a calendar of crises. Lebanon has long ceased to be a country where one can plan for tomorrow. Here, a hospital is a luxury, and electricity and water are rationed goods. Decades of tension and war, followed by a sudden currency collapse, banks freezing people’s life savings, and inflation that overnight reduced coins to scrap value.

They confide in Doctor Elias, though their helplessness still constrains them. They trust him. He regularly brings them medicine and food and helps heat their apartment in winter. Monthly rent is $200. Over nine months, the debt has grown to $1,800. Doctor Elias explains that at such a price, we won’t find a second apartment in this part of Lebanon. If the landlord finally loses patience and evicts them, they will end up on the street. We must help them. They have no one else. Before leaving, we promise they will not be left alone. We cannot condemn them to uncertainty for another moment.

The cleanliness and order in Jean and Laudy’s apartment is not just about aesthetics. It is a rebellion against the chaos that has crept into their lives for years. Please help them. This is not just about rent. It’s about the dignity of people whose life savings were stolen by the crisis, and who through no fault of their own now stand on the brink of homelessness.