Princess Diana was known for her heartfelt visits to hospitals, where she brought joy and hope to those in need.
However, one visit turned into something far more — a passionate love affair that remained shrouded in secrecy for years.
It’s 1995 – just two months prior to the infamous Panorama interview that would forever alter Diana’s life. You might remember that interview, when Princess Diana came clean about her struggles with mental health and the trials of her marriage, capturing the world’s empathy.
Two months before that interview, Diana crossed paths with a handsome doctor, a Muslim whose dark good looks were compared to the charming actor Omar Sharif.
The dashing heart surgeon, Dr. Hasnat Khan, worked at the Royal Brompton Hospital in London. But how did this unlikely pair end up together?
Well, that’s because Joe Toffolo, the patient who underwent surgery, was married to Oonagh Shanley-Toffolo, an Irish nun and acupuncturist who was a close confidante of Princess Diana.
After the initial visit, Diana returned to the hospital almost daily for three weeks, eager to pursue the handsome surgeon. The connection was electric.
Smoked cigarettes and loved KFC
Today, when we look back at countless photos of Diana visiting the hospital, it’s officially stated that she went to cheer up sick children or raise awareness for cystic fibrosis.
That’s definitely true. However, she also had personal reasons. Beneath the surface, her motivations were deeply personal. Because at 35, Diana had discovered a reason to smile once more.
(Photo by Stan Karczmarz/Sygma via Getty Images)
When Diana and Khan started seeing each other, it marked Diana’s most serious involvement since her separation from Prince Charles three years earlier.
But it came shrouded in secrecy. Few knew about their budding romance, a bond that seemed improbable at first glance. Dr. Khan, then 37, was a heart surgeon
that was running fat and smoked a pack of cigarettes a day,
He had penchant for late-night jazz clubs and Kentucky Fried Chicken — an unconventional match for the Princess of Wales.
But this didn’t stop Diana.
”He’s drop-dead gorgeous,” Diana reportedly told Oonagh Toffolo.
Secret messages
To keep their love under wraps, Diana cleverly disguised her messages for Khan, using the alias ”Dr. Armani.” They met in secret, often in unconventional spots to avoid prying eyes.
On one occasion, Diana donned a black wig to sneak into Ronnie Scott’s, a famous jazz club in Soho. In another instance, Khan hid in the boot of a car to slip into Kensington Palace, aided by Diana’s loyal butler, Paul Burrell.
Their romance flourished even during casual outings.
One day, when Diana was feeling low, Khan whisked her away to a pub near Harefield Hospital where he had worked. The name? The Prince of Wales.
”She thought it was hilarious,” he recalled with a chuckle.
Diana was so enamored that she even asked her butler to find a priest who could marry them, despite Khan’s Muslim faith. Their love deepened as they spent time together, sharing laughter and discovering each other’s worlds.
Diana reportedly read books on Islam and cherished a photograph of “my dishy doctor.” She even visited Khan’s family in Lahore, Pakistan, where she embraced their culture and enjoyed a delightful afternoon tea.
Met William and Harry
This whirlwind romance took a more serious turn when Diana introduced Khan to her sons, William and Harry.
She described him as “Mr. Wonderful” and, according to her butler Burrell, she referred to Khan as her soulmate. Friends of Diana stated that he was ”the love of her life” and that she expressed distress when their relationship ended.
Yet, as love stories often go, their fairytale faced obstacles.
The mounting pressure from the media began to take a toll on their relationship. While Diana was accustomed to the limelight, for Khan, the intense scrutiny was daunting.
He feared that pursuing their relationship publicly could jeopardize his career.
They discussed possible solutions, including moving to Pakistan — a plan that nearly came to fruition. Talks of relocating to Australia or South Africa were also on the table, but nothing materialized. According to The Guardian, Diana’s desire for public acknowledgment clashed with Khan’s reluctance, leading to a heartbreaking conclusion: the romance ended in July 1997.
Khan finds out about Dodi
Just a month later, tragedy struck. In the early hours of August 31, 1997, Diana died in a car crash in Paris, alongside her partner Dodi Fayed and their driver, Henri Paul.
Khan was blindsided by the news of Diana’s relationship with Dodi, discovering it only after it became public. ”When I found out, I was really mad; mad as hell,” he confessed in a 2012 interview.
Khan attended her funeral at Westminster Abbey.
The shadow of her tragic death looms over him still. “Sometimes I feel like screaming,” Khan shared, reflecting on the emotional turmoil. “There have been very bad times. I have moved on, but it keeps coming back.”
Despite the heartbreak, Khan fondly remembers Diana: ”We all have our drawbacks, but I found her a very normal person with great qualities and some personal drawbacks, like bad habits.”
Hasnat Khan today
In 2006, Khan married Hadia Sher Ali, a 28-year-old woman descended from Afghan royalty, but the couple divorced two years later.
He now lives in the UK, continuing his work as a heart surgeon and engaging in humanitarian efforts in Pakistan and Saudi Arabia.
Reflecting on his life, Khan shared: ”It is very good to be home. I am quite relieved to be home. My blood pressure is stable—I go fishing, I go for walks. It feels like a sanctuary. It’s very peaceful.”
Though the romance between Princess Diana and Dr. Hasnat Khan was short-lived, it remains an interesting chapter in her life, a testament to the complexity of love in the face of royal duty and public scrutiny.
As we remember the Princess, we celebrate not just her legacy, but also the love she shared with a man who saw her for who she truly was—a normal person with extraordinary qualities.
Buttons and Memories
I miss my mom. I used to push all the buttons just as she would walk down the aisle, a mischievous glint in my eye. Each time we visited the grocery store, I’d dash ahead, my small fingers dancing over the colorful buttons of the self-checkout machine. With each beep, she’d turn around, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You little rascal! One day, you’re going to break it!” she’d say, shaking her head, but her smile would give her away. Those moments were filled with laughter and light, the kind of memories that could brighten even the dullest days.
Since her passing, the grocery store has become a hollow place for me. I walk through, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft whoosh, and I feel the weight of the emptiness settle in my chest. The shelves filled with brightly packaged goods seem to mock my solitude. I can still hear her voice, echoing in my mind, reminding me to pick up my favorite snacks or to try a new recipe. I wander through the aisles, my heart heavy, searching for a piece of her in every corner.
I remember how she would linger by the produce, inspecting the apples with care, always choosing the shiniest ones. “The best things in life are worth taking a moment to choose,” she would say, her hands gently brushing over the fruit. Now, I find myself standing there, staring at the apples, unable to choose. They all seem dull and lifeless without her touch.
The self-checkout machines are still there, their buttons waiting to be pressed, but they feel like a cruel reminder of what I’ve lost. I can’t bring myself to push them anymore. The last time I stood in front of one, the memories flooded back. I could almost hear her laughter, feel her presence beside me. But it was just a memory, fleeting and painful.
Every week, I return to the store, hoping that somehow it will feel different, that I’ll find a way to connect with her again. But the aisles remain unchanged, their fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a persistent reminder of my loneliness. I see other families laughing and chatting, and I feel like an outsider looking in on a world that no longer includes me.
One evening, as I walked past the cereal aisle, I spotted a box of her favorite brand. It was decorated with bright colors and cheerful characters, a stark contrast to the heaviness in my heart. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and grabbed it, a sudden rush of nostalgia washing over me. I could almost see her standing beside me, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let’s get it! We can make our special breakfast tomorrow!”
With the box cradled in my arms, I made my way to the checkout. I felt a warmth spreading through me, the kind of warmth that comes from cherished memories. But as I stood there, scanning the items and watching the screen flash numbers, I realized that I was alone. The laughter we shared, the spontaneous dance parties in the kitchen, all of it felt like a distant dream.
When I got home, I placed the box on the kitchen counter, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. I thought about making pancakes, just like we used to, the kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla and maple syrup. I reached for my phone to call her, to share the news, but my heart sank as reality set in. There would be no more calls, no more laughter echoing through the house.
That night, I sat in the dark, the box of cereal beside me, feeling the weight of my grief settle in. I poured myself a bowl, the sound of the cereal hitting the milk breaking the silence. As I took the first bite, tears streamed down my cheeks. Each crunch reminded me of the moments we had shared, and I felt an ache in my chest for the warmth of her presence.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “I wish I could press all the buttons just one more time, hear you laugh, feel your hand in mine.”
But the buttons would remain untouched, just as the aisles of the grocery store would remain silent, a reflection of the emptiness I felt inside. And in that moment, I realized that while the world continued to move forward, I would always carry her with me, a bittersweet reminder of the love that once filled my life.
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