HIGH-TECH AMERICA: COMPETITIVE, INTENSE AND EVER-CHANGING. YET FOR ONE MUSLIM SOFTWARE ENGINEER, HER WORKSPACE DURING LUNCH IS ONE OF TRADITION, DEVOTION AND SERENITY. IT'S WHERE SHE PRAYS.

In the office hub of ringing phones, chatting coworkers and clacking computer keys that is a busy computer software company, Nassrin is a study in contrast —a weaving of spirituality and technology. She's neatly attired in a maroon tunic and black pants, which hang loosely. Because she follows Islamic law regarding dress, a hejab (headscarf) frames her face and conceals her hair and neck. Her hands are the only other visible skin. Her fingers hunt and peck over the keyboard as she sits in front of one of two computers in her cubicle, researching a new software component for her job.

At noon, when other coworkers trickle off to lunch, the forty-year-old stays behind. Her small lunch, which she usually eats alone, will wait. Setting aside her work for the time being, Nassrin makes her way through the labyrinth of cubicles exchanging hellos with other employees. She is headed for the women's restroom to begin the 1,400-year-old Salat-Al Zohr (noon) prayer, which she's successfully incorporated into her corporate work life.

Standing at the bathroom sink, Nassrin rolls her sleeves to her elbows. Removing her shoes and stockings, but keeping her hejab in place, she carefully and delicately rinses her face and arms under running water. She dampens her hands, which she wipes across her feet. She is preparing to meet Allah in prayer. In doing so, she says she feels she's performing "a love relationship between humans and God."

If she were working in her native Iran, there would be a designated prayer room where coworkers could congregate, supplied with rugs and copies of the Qu'ran. But as the only practicing Muslim in this office, Nassrin has had to adapt. She performs these private religious moments in a steel-and-glass office building, surrounded by the noise of hundreds of coworkers conducting business.

On any given day, someone will witness her ritual. Once, a female coworker stopped Nassrin in the bathroom to ask to see her hair. Nassrin agreed without hesitation, saying, "See, I'm like you." The woman was not alone in her curiosity. In the past, other coworkers have asked her if her hejab makes her too hot or if she can hear with it —questions that do not offend her.

Nassrin's older brother, Adbi, who also lives in the United States, tried to persuade her not to wear her hejab at work. He remembers thinking that people, even Iranian friends, categorize people based on appearance. But Nassrin held fast to her convictions. The hejab symbolizes her religion and represents her core values. Growing up, her parents encouraged her and her six older brothers to make their own choices about practicing religion. At the end of high school, while still in Iran, Nassrin committed herself to Islam, modeling herself after her father, whom she remembers as a positive example of "what a good Muslim should be." She has kept her vow to remain devoted, even after leaving Iran sixteen years ago for career opportunities. Today, the challenge in balancing her spiritual and her business lives has only strengthened Nassrin's commitment to Islam.

Nonetheless, at times she chooses to forgo the full ritual and says the rakats (prayer sets) in her head while driving to seminars. At other times, she compromises her adherence to Islamic customs. For example, traditionally in Islamic countries, women and men are allowed to touch only if they are in an immediate family or married. While Nassrin abstains from hugging her male coworkers, she feels it is too rude to refuse their handshakes.

After completing the cleansing ritual, Nassrin returns to her cubicle to pray. To create some privacy, she rolls her chair to block the entry. From a plastic bag within a steel file cabinet, she removes a neatly folded navy, gold and ivory embroidered wool rug with fringe with a working compass sewn into the center. She spreads it on the floor, facing northeast, symbolically in the direction of Mecca.

In actuality, she faces the cubicle wall shared by the next coworker. She stands on the rug, hands cupping her ears as if she is listening to far off sounds and murmurs, Allahu Akbar (God is the greatest). During the ten-minute prayer the office noises intrude, but Nassrin is oblivious, absorbed in her prayers.

When she finishes, she gets back to work. The phone rings and she quickly answers it, her Iranian accent slightly detectable. Unlike the loud chatter elsewhere, her voice is serene.