In The Mirror

She had walked Daniel to the door. Then she stood indecisively in the hallway. The computer in the living room was still running. What about it frightened her? Was it the pictures she had discovered? Or was it the phone number?

To delay the moment when she would have to deal with one or the other, she went into the bathroom. The lock closed with a loud click.

The mirror. Samira leaned forward. She looked at her reflection. Her own eyes looked back at her self-consciously. She thought she knew herself, knew what she looked like. But now she decided to rediscover herself.

Her soft oval face was framed by the beige hijab. Neat, decent. Not a single strand of hair was visible.

She snorted derisively. Even the women on the internet wore their headscarves perfectly; most of them, at least. And yet there was not a trace of modesty about them. They were not women like her. She had nothing in common with them. She didn't want to be like them.

Or did she?

The women's eyes had seemed confident. There was no shame. They knew what they were doing. They presented themselves and their bodies. And they didn't let anyone stop them. They were... free.

Could I be like that too? Not in an indecent, dirty way. But self-determined. Courageous. Doing what I really want to do?

A strange warmth arose in her chest. She inhaled, trembling. Suddenly, her dress seemed too tight, constricting her, preventing her from being the woman she wanted to be.

Her fingers moved as if of their own accord, reaching for the buttons. One button came undone. Then a second.

The doubts returned. Her hand froze. What am I doing here? But she had outgrown being just the loyal, demure wife. She no longer wanted to suppress her own desires.

You're beautiful, Daniel had said. Just as beautiful as the women on the internet? She had to know. The dress fell from her body like a veil that had hidden her true self.

She held her breath. She pressed one hand against her chest as if to hold in her heart, which was beating wildly. The soft curves of her breasts trembled. Her dark nipples stood up in the sudden chill. Her other hand rested on her flat stomach.

Samira looked at herself. She looked the same as always. And yet she no longer recognized herself. The woman in the mirror was not the same one who had opened the door to a young technician the day before.