Dua Lipa and the Secret Love

Tangled in the Shadow of Longing

4th April 2023

Dua was on her way to Morocco, off to shoot a new commercial for YSL. Even with all the excitement of the trip, the lights, the glam, there was a different kind of energy about her—one that was hard to ignore. As we sat in the car heading to the airport, she turned to me, her eyes a little brighter than usual, but there was an edge of impatience too, like she was carrying something she could barely keep inside.

"I can't wait for this book to finally start coming out," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of excitement and nerves. "The thought of it being out there, of people reading it, knowing bits of our story... it's overwhelming."

It wasn't just the book, though. There was something more that was gnawing at her, something she couldn't quite shake. And then, almost as if the words had been waiting to tumble out, she added, "Every night before I fall asleep, I can't help but think about what it will be like when I see M.S. again in 2025."

The way she said it, so raw and filled with anticipation, sent a shiver down my spine. For her, this wasn't just a hopeful reunion—it was a certainty she had built her whole world around. You could feel it in the air, how much she ached for that moment, how it consumed her thoughts every night. It wasn't just a dream, it was her reality. Her anxiety, her eagerness, wasn't just about the book's release—it was about the ticking clock, counting down the days until she could finally see him again.

And in that moment, amidst the thrill of her professional success, it was so clear that all she really wanted was him.

13th April 2023

A few days later, Dua called me out of the blue. There was a soft tone in her voice, almost tender, like she'd just uncovered a memory she'd been holding onto for far too long.

"You know," she began, with a deep breath, "I remembered why I love him."

There was something about the way she said it that made my heart skip a beat, as if she had stumbled upon a forgotten truth, something she could never let go of. Before I could even respond, she asked, almost hesitantly, "Has he reached out? Has M.S. tried to contact me?"

I could hear the unspoken hope beneath her words, that faint flicker of longing still alive, despite everything. But before I could answer, she continued, her voice growing softer, almost wistful.

"I think... I think I'm going to watch Notting Hill tonight. It's still my favourite, you know. It always reminds me of him. There's something about the way that story unfolds... the way love just finds its way, no matter what."

It was almost like she was trying to find comfort in the familiar scenes, in the romance that felt so much like her own—two people, seemingly worlds apart, destined to find their way back to one another. The thought of her sitting there, alone, watching her favourite film with M.S. in her heart, hit me in a way I couldn't quite describe. It was clear—despite the time, the distance, the uncertainty—her love for him was as unshaken as ever.

It was moments like these that made me realise just how deep her feelings for M.S. truly ran. Not just a fleeting romance, but a love that seemed to define her very soul.

18th April 2023

A few days passed, and then Dua called me again. But this time, her voice was different. There was a fire in it, a quiet but undeniable confidence that I hadn't heard in a long time. I could almost feel the weight of her decision before she even spoke, as if she'd been holding onto this thought for days, waiting for the right moment to share it.*"I'm going back to red."*Her words hung in the air, unexpected and sharp. It took me a second to catch up. *"Red? What do you mean, red?"* I asked, knowing full well that Dua never did anything without reason.*"My hair,"* she said, the smile in her voice unmistakable. *"I'm dyeing it red again, but not now—when the moment's right."*I stayed silent, intrigued by this sudden declaration, knowing there was something more beneath it. There always was with Dua. She had a way of weaving meaning into the smallest decisions, and this one felt heavy, even if she hadn't explained it yet.Then she lowered her voice, like she was revealing a secret that had been sitting quietly in her heart. *"M.S. was a redhead when he was little. I'll do it for him."*The impact of those words hit me all at once. This wasn't just about changing her hair—it was a way to bring herself closer to him, a silent nod to their past, to his childhood, to the memories he might not even know she cherished. It was as though she was stitching him back into her present, little by little, preparing for a reunion that only she seemed to believe in with such unshakable certainty.Her voice softened, and I could tell she was lost in thought, probably picturing him as a child, with that red hair, maybe imagining the day he'd see her again—this time, with a reminder of who he used to be.*"When the time is right,"* she repeated, but now her words felt heavier, layered with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. This wasn't just about a look—it was about him. Every choice she made, every subtle shift in her life seemed to orbit around M.S., like he was still the centre of her universe, even when they hadn't spoken in so long.The idea of dyeing her hair was more than a style change—it was a manifestation of her love, her way of keeping him close. It was like she was whispering to him through time and distance, telling him, *"I'm still here. I remember. And I'm waiting."*And maybe, just maybe, it was her way of saying that when she dyed her hair red, when she saw him again, he would see that every part of her had always been for him—still is for him.