Why is he still asleep? It’s been 24 hours.

“Janie, can you check on him? He might be dead.”

Janie—our housekeeper—gave me the side-eye for being paranoid.

I legit thought our tenant died in his room.
Man went full Sleeping Beauty without the royalty.
No movement. No sound.  Not even a ghost fart.
Just deep hibernation.

Look—I didn’t sign up to be the landlady and the coroner on a remote island.

I have no qualms about living with someone quiet, sure.
But if I start rehearsing their eulogy? Please pack up and take your money.

Cue the meltdown.  Mostly me spiraling over his current vital status…is he dead or just dead asleep?

“Maybe he’s just tired,” Janie muttered.

I said, “Sis, can you knock on his door?  I can’t be on the news getting interviewed about a dead tenant.”

My sister, unbothered, says, “He’s just jet-lagged.”

I know—I sound chaotic. But hey, that’s just me being a caring and responsible landlady.

The next day, I saw him. I was surprised he walked again.

“Oh hey, we got scared and thought you were dead!”

He laughed…but was also slightly embarrassed.

He didn’t clarify.
Didn’t reassure.
Didn’t offer the normal human follow-up like:

“Oh yeah, I was just exhausted yesterday.”

So, I’m there thinking like—

What are you, a monk-man?
A mystery knight?
A NyQuil influencer?

But somehow I can’t help but be reminded.  Back when I was alone once in a different country, away from my family and friends.

Just me, locked in my room,
lying in bed,
staring at the ceiling,
regretting my life choices.