LOVE + FRIENDSHIPS
MISS CASA (5): She left
by Sabah el Fizazi
May 22nd, 2025
It’s been two weeks since she left Rotterdam for Casablanca. Sometimes, I still find a long blonde hair curled softly on the pillow, and I know, it’s hers. Or I catch a trace of her scent, woven into the cinnamon-colored linen sheets. The color she loves.
Her messages, the one where she tells me about her life in Morocco, are a gentle reminder that she’s no longer here in my apartment.
Our final days together were like a movie scene. We spent some time in The Hague, a city she compared to Rabat, because of their political importance. We shared a Dubai chocolate bar while looking at the historical building, Het Binnenhof. We both studied law, something that bonded us. We also had the same way of analyzing issues. Any issue, even private ones, would be held against a certain kind of self-made law. We needed rules. And we needed people in our lives who didn’t break these holy rules.
We wandered the city without a clock. I introduced her to my favourite tree in front of the palace. In the afternoon, we found our way to my favourite café: Lola Bikes & Coffee. It was the kind of place you want to return to before you even leave. We sat on an old brown leather couch. We shared the best coffee and some pieces of date pie. She closed her eyes, sat back, relaxed—she enjoyed the place. It was all: “Wow. Wow.” “I don’t have that,” she explained. “Favorite places, like you do.”
I gave her an assignment: send me at least three places in Casablanca where you feel you. She accepted the challenge
That evening, for the first time since her arrival, the weather turned kind. The cold that had kept her in jeans and my winter sweaters had finally loosened its grip. And there she was, Miss Casa in her burgundy dress. The one she had packed with hope and nearly gave up on. And I got inspired to wear my yellow skirt for our pizza night.
We went to a small pizzeria in my neighborhood. My two dearest friends were joining us. We shared slices of pizza that dripped with mozzarella di bufala, the place’s specialty.
We laughed.
Just women being girls.
And when the plates were cleared, we gave her a gift: a sketchbook and colored pencils which I knew she wanted to buy for herself. She looked at them like they were more than objects. And they are. It is a small invitation to create a new more feminine life.
And now, two weeks later, I still hear her laughter in the kitchen. I still look at her place at the table, where she used to have her eggs for breakfast.
Some people leave, and you miss them a little.
Others leave, and they are missed immensely.
Miss Casa was the latter.