Shades of Cerulean

2. First sight

'Those blue eyes had more darkness than any brown eyes I had ever seen before'
                                       
                                               - Hedonist Poet
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Stepping into the hall, the familiar setup enveloped me – three chairs, two unfamiliar faces, and a sea of cameras. The host's voice boomed through the room, echoing off the walls. I adjusted my hijab, my brown orbs scanning the room for the clock.

One more hour to go.

"Welcome back to 'The Orion,' where hunters hunt the wanted. Today, Masal Murtajiz and Samnad Qahir discuss the topic 'Why Modest Wear in an Immodest World.' Let's resume where we left off. Are you guys ready?"

Nodding my head, I assumed a neutral expression as cameras flashed. The man sitting opposite to me, Samnad Qahir, nodded too. We'd met an hour ago, yet our discussion had already turned into a heated debate.

The man in obsidian black exuded an aura of commanding presence, his chiseled features accentuated by a captivating smile that hinted at a hidden intensity. Strands of his jet-black hair cascaded over his shoulder, framing his sharp jawline. A Rolex Tiffany blue gleamed on his wrist, while the subtle shadow of a black chain teased the skin on his neck, uncovered by the tailored suit that hugged his broad physique.

At first glance, he embodied the perfection of a Greek god, his rugged beauty leaving hearts racing. Yet, the moment his lips parted, his words sliced through the allure, shattering the illusion. His dominance and assertiveness were palpable, a toxic alpha male persona that repelled and attracted simultaneously. His piercing gaze locked onto mine, and I felt the spark of conflict ignite. This was the man who had transformed a serene discussion into a fiery debate, stretching our one-hour talk show into a two-hour battle of wits, with a brief reprieve to recharge.

Samnad Qahir, the CEO of Mehtab Fashion, was a force to be reckoned with – intelligent, charismatic, and ruthless in his arguments. Our clash was inevitable, the tension between us palpable as we engaged in a war of words, each determined to emerge victorious.

Ikhtiyar Shah, the host, broke the tension. "We had stopped on the argument raised by Samnad Qahir, that modest wears oppresses women. Let's resume from there." We nodded in agreement.

"I advocate for modest wear as a symbol of resilience and self-respect and not of oppression. My legacy, Qaus-e-Quzah, provides modest clothing options for women seeking comfort and security. I have heard no complaints from my clients as well on the matter of whether modest clothes oppress women. Hence, I suspect the validity of the claim." I spoke confidently, my fingers a tight grip on the table ahead of me.

Samnad's fingers drummed against the table, his expression intense. "Every day, I meet women and girls who face discrimination at work or college for wearing abayas or bearing Muslim names. The burqa, once a symbol of dignity, now conjures images of oppression and restriction. This isn't limited to women; men in traditional attire, like kurtas and pajamas, also face scrutiny."

"Would you give us an example to prove your point?" The host demanded, noting down something on his tablet.

"I shouldn't say this as it's against the privacy of my customers. I am not detailing the name of whereabouts of her for that matter. Yesterday a customer of mine asked for a sari at our mall. She was accompanied by one of her friends, and as soon as the staff showed her what she asked for, she was beaming with happiness. She received a call from someone all of a sudden. In one second, her expression fell. She took the call, made some talks and ended the call. She complained to her friend about her dilemma of choosing the sari or not because in her house she is not allowed to wear a sari.