Dua Lipa and the Secret Love

Good by M.S

7th February 2023

Dua's voice resonated through the line, layered with a cocktail of nostalgia and a steely resolve that sent a shiver down my spine. "Forget about the book," she implored, her tone laced with a bittersweet urgency. "I need you to add those notes I made and send me the finished manuscript." I couldn't help but feel the weight of her request. "Alright, Dua," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within. "I had a feeling this was coming. It was good while it lasted, wasn't it?" She nodded, a flicker of melancholy crossing her face, as if we were both standing on the precipice of something profound yet fleeting. "I want to keep this story like a cherished treasure," she confessed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. In that moment, she revealed how she had recorded the call from M.S. while we were still weaving our narrative. Clutching onto the fragile hope that this connection might somehow bridge the chasm between them, she had captured that ephemeral moment on video. "I'll send you the recording," she promised, but her voice took on a determined edge as she added, "Write exactly what's in that call—no secrets, no games... and make it the final chapter of this story." Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable dripping with unspoken emotions and unresolved tensions. It was as if she was entrusting me with the weight of their story, a narrative fraught with longing and heartache. As we exchanged our farewells, I felt a profound sense of loss wash over me, a quiet understanding that this was a moment we would never reclaim.With a racing heart, I turned my attention to the video, steeling myself for the emotional tempest it would unleash. Each second felt like an eternity as I prepared to delve into the raw, unfiltered essence of their past—a testament to love, regret, and the indelible marks left on our souls.

After watching that video, I felt utterly devoid of reaction, as if all the emotions had drained out of me, leaving only a hollow ache in their place. The only thing I could manage to do was call M.S. It was a tentative step into the unknown, but I needed to hear his voice, to somehow tether myself to the reality of it all. After our conversation, I picked up the phone again and dialled Dua. It was as though I was spiralling into a well of acceptance; I was finally coming to terms with the fact that there was no changing the present, no rewinding the clock. I had to accept it, no matter how painful that truth felt.It took me a few days to muster the strength to transcribe those calls, to lay bare the raw, unfiltered emotions exchanged between us. But finally, I managed to do it. Each word I wrote felt like an echo of our intertwined fates, reflecting the struggles we faced.

The next three chapters will be a mosaic of our conversations: the heartfelt exchanges between Dua and M.S., my dialogues with M.S., and finally, the intimate, tangled threads of my discussions with Dua. Each chapter will serve as a poignant reminder of the complexities of love and the bittersweet nature of memories, encapsulating our journey in a way that words alone could never fully convey.

This is the end of our book... it was too late.