Zeba walked through the cold snowing streets of London with a cup of hot Starbucks in one hand, a book in the other. She was just another citizen of London going for work.

Or she wished she was.

But it never was that simple for her. Not with the body covering burqa and fear inferring hijab she wore.

Everywhere she went, she got disgusted looks for being a person of her religion, wearing what her ancestors, religion and traditions asked her to. Deemed a terrorist and evil by the pieces of cloth she wore around her head, honouring her religion.

But what Zeba didn't understand was that, why didnt people show the same sentiment shown to her when she wore a hijab to those who wore a rosary? Why was her religion to be deemed evil despite all the other religions having their fare share in terrorism and worser things?

She watched with keen yet defiant eyes as a londoner's eyes roved over her completely covered form, some even sneering behind her back.

As zeba walked, she noticed the homeless seated along the pavement, dressed poorly against the harsh London whether. She wanted to walk away but she couldn't. She approached them with a gentle smile and handed over the little money she had. The grateful light that entered their eyes made her heart soar.

She approached her work place, her back straight and chin high.She was not going to fall prey to those shallow minded people's way of thinking again.

She worked as a journalist in one of London's biggest media companies. She recalled the first time she had entered the big establishment, they were apprehensive about her in the first, always checking upon her and whatnot, not believing that a Muslim woman who refuses to wear western clothes could work as well as a western woman who wore all of those.

Needless to say, they had been impressed by her work when she had shown them the samples. It was almost insulting the way their eyes had lit up in surprise before they gave her burqa clad form a once over.

"Don't you ever feel hot in that?" She heard her boss ask as  Zeba started up her laptop, already anticipating the day's work.

"In summer it feels like an oven." The reply came off as dry and monotone since Zeba couldn't remember the last time when one of her colleagues or when she was in school, her friends, wasn't curious about the same thing.

Sometimes she wished that they would try and see past the burqa and hijab to see the kind of person she was.

But as wise John Green once said, life is not a wish granting factory. And the same applied to Zeba .

"Why don't you try normal clothes for once Zeba?" The boss asked.

Zeba's hardened gaze slowly turned towards the other female whose name she couldnt remember.

Oh right it was Claudia.

"Normal?" Zeba's eyebrows shot up even as her mind was lay in a calm state. She was used to this. Nothing as silly as this could affect her anymore. But she wanted to play with Claudia.

So Zeba stared at Claudia her gaze furious, gauging the other woman's  reaction.

Would she scamper away like a frightened deer or make this into bigger deal than this already was?

"Yeah Zeba. Why don't you try removing that constricting headscarf off for once and let your hair out? Try wearing jeans and high heels and stop being so conservative." Her boss borderline sneered.

Zeba kept her silence.

And the moment of quite silence seemed to encourage Claudia to continue.

"See Zeba, we are living in the twenty first century, our world is free and nobody needs to  feel restrained or caged to a certain religion that makes them do absurd things like covering your hair and showing no skin, that's stupid don't you think?" Claudia smiled at her.

"Actually, no." Zeba said, her voice clipped as she ran her fingers over her for head trying to calm herself down. She didn't want to deal with these kind of things so early in the morning.

Claudia ignored her and continued on.

"Don't you see what this does to your face? Why can't you see that outsiders give us accusing looks when you walk in? I feel like I'm in a mafia or something."

Zeba ignored the jab after jab that was sent her way and merely smiled at Claudia as she ranted.

"Why are you smiling? Can't you see that I'm serious ?" Claudia's tone had taken on a seething edge, all trace of politeness gone.

"Are you saying that I should quit?" Zeba asked resuming her work as her boss stood right outside her cubicle.

"No just change this." Claudia's hands were suddenly rudely tugged at her hijab.

Zeba's patience was on edge. She had remind herself over and over again that Claudia was her superior.

"No, I'm sorry but I cannot." Zeba knew that this could get her fired but she was tired of people telling her what to do and what to wear.

If this was the fucking twenty first century and everybody had their freedom then why the hell did she not have the freedom to wear a burqa and follow her own religion's traditions?

Asthaghfirullah.

"Are you sure?" Claudia's voice was soft and quiet like the impending storm.

Zeba tried to brace herself for what was about to happen, her fingers trembling.

"You're fired." Claudia said as she walked away, her tone smug.

Like the countless times before, her entire world stilled. Her mind raced with all the problems she would have without her pay check. She would have to find another job, probably an online one as she was not going to give her customs just because of some shallow minded people.

A calm cold washed over Zebas mind and heart soothing over the cracks and burns in it. Allah was with her.

She would survive. She had to.
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