Adele in Love "The woman in the crowd"

1|| the woman in the black dress

From Adele's Perspective:

As I poured my heart into the third song of the night, "Love in the Dark," I let the music take me somewhere deep inside myself, where every lyric was a piece of my soul laid bare. My eyes swept across the crowd, seeing faces lit up with emotion, but then I saw *her*—a woman in the front row who seemed to shine brighter than anyone else. She was stunning, with long, flowing brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders and the kind of blue eyes that seem to hold a thousand untold stories. She wore a sleek, black dress that hugged her figure, elegant yet understated, and it was impossible not to notice her. In a room full of people, she was the only one I could focus on.

As I moved across the stage, lost in the melody, I couldn't help but let my gaze drift back to her. There was something magnetic about her presence, something that pulled me in without resistance. As I approached her side of the stage, she did something unexpected—she waved at me, her hand lifting in a delicate, almost hesitant motion. It was as if she wasn't sure she should, but the connection between us was undeniable. My heart skipped a beat, and I smiled, waving back instinctively. It was a small, intimate moment shared between us in the middle of a massive crowd. A flicker of something new and unspoken passed between us, and I could feel my heart fluttering in a way that it hadn't in a very long time.

The audience was singing along, their voices rising to meet mine in a chorus that filled the arena, but my attention kept drifting back to her. I tried to focus, to pull myself back into the performance, but she had a hold on me that I couldn't shake. She sang too, her lips moving softly with the words, and for a moment, I found myself wondering what her voice sounded like—was it as gentle and captivating as her presence? I couldn't gauge her age exactly, but I imagined she was in her early 30s. There was a maturity about her, a depth in her eyes that spoke of life experiences, yet she carried herself with a youthful grace.

As the night went on, I shared stories with the crowd, as I often do. It's my way of connecting, of letting people in on my journey. But tonight, something felt different. Everywhere I looked, I saw the familiar glow of phones held up to capture the moment. It's something I've grown accustomed to, but when I looked back at her, I noticed something that took me by surprise. She wasn't holding a phone. Not once did she pull it out to take a photo or a video. She was completely immersed in the experience, fully present, as if she didn't want anything to come between her and the moment we were sharing. It touched me in a way that nothing else could. In a world obsessed with capturing every second, she chose to live in it. That gesture, that simple act of just being there, meant more to me than any applause or cheers ever could.

The music grew more emotional as the show progressed, each song pulling us deeper into a shared experience that was as much about the audience as it was about me. I could feel the weight of every word, every note. The tears started to fall—not just from me, but from nearly everyone in the room. It was one of those nights where the music broke down all barriers, where every person in that space was connected by something invisible but incredibly powerful. And all the while, I kept finding her eyes in the crowd. She was crying too, and somehow, seeing her tears made mine flow even more freely.

I had already brought two fans up on stage earlier in the night, but I was craving more, something more personal. I wanted to reach out, to make a connection that would last beyond this performance. My gaze found her once again—the woman with the enchanting blue eyes and the long brown hair that had captivated me all night. It felt as if the universe was nudging me toward her, urging me to bridge the distance between us.

"Hey," I said softly into the microphone, my voice calm but my heart racing with a nervous energy I hadn't felt in years. "Would you like to come up on stage?"

For a moment, she seemed taken aback. Our eyes locked, and in that split second, I felt something shift inside me. She smiled—a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes and made my heart skip a beat. "Thank you so much, Adele," she said, her voice soft but clear, every word wrapped in a sincerity that made me want to hear more. "That means so much to me, really. But there's a little girl sitting somewhere to the left. You should bring her up on stage instead."

Her response caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting her to turn down the opportunity, especially not in favor of someone else. But there it was—this incredible act of selflessness that only made me more intrigued by her. She could have had this moment, could have stood by my side, but instead, she chose to give that chance to someone else. I felt a wave of admiration for her, something pure and genuine that made me want to know more about who she was.

I turned my attention to the little girl she mentioned, found her in the crowd, and invited her on stage. The joy on the girl's face was infectious, and for a while, I was lost in the happiness of that moment. But even as I interacted with the girl and the audience, I couldn't stop thinking about the woman who had given up her chance. Her voice, the way she said my name, kept playing in my mind like a melody I couldn't shake. It was as if her voice had been imprinted on my soul, something I knew I wouldn't forget.

As the show came to a close and I took my final bow, a strange feeling of loss washed over me. I knew that, in all likelihood, I would never see her again. The thought weighed heavily on my heart, and I didn't understand why. Why was I so drawn to her? What was it about her that made me feel this way? I've never been interested in women before—not like this. But the more I tried to push the thoughts away, the stronger they became. Was this just a fleeting fascination, or was it something deeper? Something I wasn't ready to confront?

When I finally made it back to my hotel, I was emotionally exhausted. All I wanted was to close my eyes and escape into sleep, but as soon as I lay down, her image filled my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about her—the way she looked at me, the kindness in her voice, the way she chose to stay in the moment rather than document it. I felt like a teenager again, caught in the throes of an unexpected crush that made no sense but felt so real. I tossed and turned, my mind racing with thoughts and emotions I hadn't felt in years. There was something about her, something that had reached deep inside me and stirred up feelings I thought I'd buried long ago.

I didn't know what to do with myself. This wasn't supposed to happen—*I* wasn't supposed to feel this way. But there I was, lying in the dark, thinking about a woman whose name I didn't even know, yet who had somehow managed to turn my world upside down in just one evening. The confusion, the excitement, the fear of what this all meant swirled together in my chest, and I knew that sleep would not come easily. This woman, this stranger who had captivated me with her presence, was someone I would never forget. And as I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, I couldn't help but wonder—what if?