Tannaz's Secret Submission

I'm Tannaz khan, a very conservative fair looking girl from Delhi. Competed my engineering in the same city and got a well paying job in Hyderabad. I was very skeptical as I didn't want to leave my city and In fact, I never visited south India. But one reason which made me to take up this job is that I always wanted to be an independent woman. And Hyderabad is a well developed city and also has finite Muslim population, so I wouldn't feel alienated. I have accepted the offer and left delhi for the first time. The company specializes in crafting custom-fit covers designed to shield vehicles, tailoring each cover to match the unique shape of the car. Basically just like a case for a phone.

The first few days in Hyderabad were overwhelming. The city felt so different from Delhi--more relaxed, with wide roads and a mix of modern skyscrapers and old buildings. My apartment was smaller than what I was used to, but it had a cozy charm. Still, the feeling of being alone in a new city was hard to ignore. I missed my family, the bustling streets of Delhi, the sounds and smells I grew up with. But I reminded myself that this was my choice. I was here to build something for myself, to prove I could stand on my own.

I have spent some days here going to famous places like Charminar, the museum and some cafes in jubilee hills. Now my office is about to start. But let me tell you something about me.

I always had Muslim friends throughout my childhood. Never integrated with people from other faiths. Never had male friends from other faiths. I'm very proud of bring a Muslim and have a little bit superiority complex too. I do dislike people from other faiths too. One of the reasons I liked about Hyderabad is that it has more Muslim population but I don't know anything about people in my office.

So that Monday, I woke up and freshen up. Wore a yellow Kurti and white palazzo pants. And obviously Burkha over it, fully covered from top to bottom with just me face visible. I tied my hair neatly beneath the burkha, slipped into my sandals, and left for the office. I entered the towering glass building, I couldn't help but feel like a tiny fish in an endless ocean. Men and women in formal western clothes rushed past me. I clutched my handbag tighter, feeling more out of place with every step. I kept my gaze low, clutching my bag tightly as I made my way toward the elevators. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot out.

A man slipped in -- tall, broad-shouldered, in a perfectly tailored navy suit. He seemed to be in his early 30s but stiff and fit. He is dark colored and had a nice jawline. Overall a obviously handsome man. I did find him hot but again, haram for me to acknowledge that if he happens to be from other faith. The lift suddenly felt suffocatingly small.

I instinctively moved to one side, shrinking into the corner.

At around 5th floor, Without warning, the lift jerked -- a small mechanical shudder, but enough to throw me off balance. I stumbled forward, helpless. Before I could fall flat on my face, the man caught me, but not the way I'd expected. One large hand grabbed my upper arm to steady me -- and the other, oh my God -- landed squarely on my ass. It lasted barely a second before he realized and jerked his hand away, but the contact had already seared itself into my skin, even through the heavy layers of my burkha.

"Easy there," he said, chuckling low in his throat.

I stumbled back, pulling myself upright, adjusting my burkha my face burning in mortification and boiling anger.

"Watch where you're touching!" I snapped, glaring at him with all the fury I could muster.

He raised his eyebrows, looking seriously and said "Relax, I thought it was your waist. How am I supposed to know what's what under all that?"

"What's under all what?" I shouted slightly

"Burkha" he replied in the same condescending tone. I was stunned by the shamelessness of his words.

"My burkha is not your excuse," I hissed, my voice low and cutting. I didn't want to make it a scene further.

He shrugged, leaning back against the wall casually, like he wasn't speaking to a woman who is shouting at him. I doubted if he is checking me out leaning back on the lift, so i turned my head around and he says

"Maybe next time, try a name tag," he said, voice dripping with amusement.

The lift dinged mercifully at our floor.

I stormed out without another word, not daring to look back at him -- even though I could feel his eyes on me, burning through the layers of cloth, burning straight into my skin.

What a disgusting, shameless man, I thought furiously as I made my way toward the reception desk.

I clenched my fists, trying to hide the trembling in my hands as I approached the marble reception desk.

A young woman in a crisp, cream saree looked up with a practiced, pleasant smile.

"Good morning, ma'am. New joiner?"

I nodded stiffly, my face carefully composed even though my insides were still twisting from the disaster in the lift.

"Please take a seat in the waiting area," she said, gesturing toward a set of sleek black sofas. "Someone will call you shortly for the induction."

I mumbled a thank you and walked over, perching on the very edge of the sofa like it might burn me if I sank in properly. My mind was still reeling from the heat of that man's touch, from the shameless way he'd smirked, from my own helplessness. I pulled my burkha tighter around myself, desperate to hide every inch of me, desperate to shrink into invisibility.

What kind of man grabs a woman in a burkha like that?

Filthy.

Disgusting.

I seethed silently, hating him, hating this city, hating myself for ever stepping foot into this place.

Other new joiners trickled into the lobby -- their light chatter filling the space. Girls in smart kurtis and jeans, boys in polished shoes and tucked shirts. Nobody else looked like me.

Nobody else had draped themselves in fabric, in caution, in pride. Once again, loneliness gripped my chest tightly.

"New joiners, please proceed to Conference Room 1 for your induction," the receptionist called after some time.

I got up quickly, keeping my eyes trained on the floor as I followed the others through the glass corridors. The conference room was modern and sprawling, all white light and cold steel. Rows of chairs faced a raised podium. I chose the last row, farthest from the front, sliding into a corner seat. I wanted to disappear. Just get through today.

An HR lady, in a pastel blazer and formal trousers, stepped up to the microphone.

"Good morning, everyone! We're excited to have you on board. Our CEO himself has insisted on welcoming you personally today."

There was a ripple of excitement in the room. People straightened their backs, whispered among themselves. I barely reacted. I assumed -- hoped -- it would be some elderly businessman. Someone boring and safe. The side door clicked open. Footsteps. Sharp. Measured. I glanced up without thinking -- and my whole body stiffened.

It was him.

The man from the lift.

The man whose hand had seared itself onto my body.

The man who had smirked while I burned in shame.

Now he walked to the podium like he owned every atom in the room.

His dark suit hugging a body that moved with lethal grace.

His sharp jawline set, his mouth curling into something just shy of a smirk when his eyes swept the room -- and found me.

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

He adjusted the mic casually, as if he didn't know he'd already turned my morning into a nightmare.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rich, confident, almost lazy.

"I'm Avinash. Your CEO."

A stunned hush fell over the room, followed by polite, cautious applause. I couldn't even lift my hands. My palms were slick with sweat inside my burkha. The man I had snapped at.

The man whose hand had -- oh Allah -- touched me in the most humiliating way.

And now... he was my boss. And the most thing I hated that he is Hindu

As he continued speaking about the company's vision and culture, he said "Sometimes the best things are wrapped up tightly. But even under the layers, you can tell there's something valuable just by the way it's shaped" and then he looks at me.

I felt my breath catch, and in that instant, I knew exactly what he meant. He wasn't talking about work or the company. He was talking about me. More specifically, he was talking about my Burkha -- and the way he could almost see me underneath it.

My heart pounded in my chest, the anger bubbling up. How dare he? His tone, so nonchalant, like he had a right to comment on my body, like I was just another object for him to admire. I could feel his eyes on me even though he was looking at everyone else in the room.

The conference was over, the crowd began to thin, and the once tense atmosphere slowly eased into casual chatter. People started gathering their belongings, exchanging business cards, and heading toward the exits. I knew I had to move on, but I couldn't ignore how his words still echoed in my mind. The day might have ended, but the unease hadn't left. Not yet.

To be continued...