But as she adjusted the fabric around her eyes, securing the niqab, she smiled. It was a secret smile, hidden behind the pleats of black cloth.

Sometimes, I walk into a boardroom wearing a silk headscarf and a power lip, and the women look at me with pity. They assume my husband picks my clothes. They don't realize I picked him because he lets me pick my own clothes.

But the clock was ticking.

The hardest part isn't wearing both. The hardest part is the smudge.

Zara stared at her reflection. Without the fabric, her face was an open book. The lipstick was a declaration, a slash of rebellion against the muted beige of the walls. It was the color of the woman she felt like on the inside: unhidden.