Dua Lipa and the Secret Love

Sailing in Ink and Memory

25th February 2023

In one of her quieter moments, Dua found herself tracing her fingers over the small tattoo on her arm, a delicate piece of ink that held more significance than most people would ever know. It was a simple word, "حب"—"love" in Arabic—but the meaning behind it was profound. It wasn't just a decoration; it was a permanent reminder of M.S. and the promise she had once made to herself, and to him.

She remembered the day she got it done, the excitement mixed with a nervous energy as the needle buzzed against her skin. It hadn't been a spontaneous decision. In fact, it was one of the most intentional choices she'd ever made. She'd wanted something that would always keep M.S. close to her, even when they were miles apart. The word love in Arabic felt perfect. It was their private language, a symbol of something unspoken, yet deeply understood between them.

The memory of M.S.'s reaction played vividly in her mind. He hadn't seen it right away. She had kept it hidden for weeks, waiting for the right moment to reveal it. When she finally showed him, rolling up her sleeve to reveal the small, elegant script, his eyes had widened with surprise. There was a quiet awe in his expression, a mix of admiration and something deeper—something more intimate.

M.S. had gently traced the tattoo with his fingertips, his touch sending shivers through her skin as he whispered, "You did this for me?" His voice was soft, almost reverent, as though he couldn't quite believe that she had committed something so permanent to symbolize their connection.

"I did it for us," she had replied, her voice barely above a whisper, their gazes locked in a moment that felt infinite. "Because no matter where life takes us, no matter how far apart we are, this is forever. This is how I feel, and that will never change."

He hadn't needed to say anything more. The way he looked at her—like she was the most precious thing in his world—had said it all. It was one of those moments where words weren't necessary. They both knew what it meant, how deeply they cared for one another, and how much this love, their love, would shape the rest of their lives.

Now, as she sat alone, feeling the weight of their distance, she couldn't help but smile bitterly at the memory. The tattoo still meant everything to her, but in moments of doubt, she wondered if it meant the same to him. Did M.S. still think about that day? Did he still remember the way they felt, the promises they didn't need to make because they were so sure of each other back then?

The thought gnawed at her—what if he had forgotten? What if the love she had immortalized in ink was now just a distant memory for him, something lost in the haze of time and space between them?

But no matter how much doubt tried to creep in, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. That tattoo was more than just a mark on her skin. It was a piece of her heart, a testament to a love that still burned inside her, even when she was trying her hardest to move forward. And in those quiet moments, when she was alone with her thoughts, she would look down at her arm, at the small Arabic script, and remind herself that their story wasn't over—not yet.

It was a reminder that love, true love, didn't fade so easily. It lingered, just like the ink on her skin. "حب"—love. It was always there, always waiting, just like she was.

3th March 2023

Dua's voice was a mixture of exhaustion and frustration when she called me late one night, her words pouring out like a confession she had been holding onto for far too long.

"Have you seen the pictures the paparazzi are taking of me lately?" she asked, her tone almost defeated. "It's like they've captured every tear I've cried. It's written all over my face."