The Untainted – Chapter 8
By Olukoya Zainab
Sitting on my narrow hostel bed, legs crossed and notes spread before me, I tried to drown myself in my books.
Tried.
Because Folakemi was not having it.
She moved around the room like a restless breeze—opening drawers, shutting wardrobes, humming loudly, spraying perfume as though she wanted the entire block to know she existed. I pressed my pen harder against the paper and whispered inwardly, Ya Allah, give me patience.
At least the third roommate had been replaced. I had thanked Allah for that small mercy. But her replacement? Not much different. Another club enthusiast. Short dresses, heavy makeup, late-night outings, loud laughter in the corridor at 2 a.m.
The only improvement was that she didn't drink or smoke inside the room.
Small wins.
Sometimes I regretted leaving my apartment outside school. At least there, I had peace. Silence. Space to breathe.
But peace costs money.
And money… sigh.
I couldn't keep paying rent, buying textbooks, feeding myself, and handling school expenses. Not when my parents were surviving on irregular pension payments. Not when the last money they sent barely covered two weeks.
I had lied to them.
Told them it was enough.
Because I didn't want them to start again.
"Rihannat, you're of age now."
"There is this responsible young man…"
"He will take good care of you."
They meant well. They always did. But they were tired. Old. They should be resting, enjoying the fruits of their labour—not worrying about a daughter they had late in life.
I will do the rest, I always told myself. They have done enough.
"Babe! Won't you answer me? You won't talk abi?"
Before I could react, my book was snatched from my hand.
I looked up sharply. "Fola! Why would you take my book?"
She grinned, unbothered. "Because you're ignoring me. And I don't like it."
"I'm not going to your party. I need to study. No party."
"Which study again?" she rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're already topping the class. One night won't drop your score."
"That's not the point."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
"And I showed your last drawing to my family."
My annoyance paused.
"They loved it. My mum kept staring at it. My dad asked if you sell your work professionally. And my brother—"
She stopped for effect.
"They asked me to bring you tomorrow. They want to meet the genius who doesn't study art but draws like she was born with a pencil in her hand."
I blinked.
"They said you might even get a better offer. Higher price. Real clients. Not just students."
My heart betrayed me.
Money.
Opportunity.
Recognition.
Fola was one of my biggest patrons. For all her clubbing and dramatic lifestyle, she loved art deeply. She paid well. She recommended me. She brought customers.
She had helped me survive more than once.
An invitation from her family wasn't small.
What if they genuinely liked my work?
What if I sold enough pieces tomorrow to settle my pressing needs?
What if…
I swallowed the thoughts.
But then another voice whispered: You don't belong there.
They were wealthy. Influential. Well-connected. I had seen the cars that picked her up sometimes. I had heard her speak about board meetings, companies, investments.
Different worlds.
Different leagues.
Different radar.
Still… I needed money.
"Fine," I said slowly. "I'll follow you. But I won't stay long. I won't be where you people are drinking and dancing. I'll meet your parents and anyone interested in my paintings, then I'll leave."
Fola squealed and hugged me. "Ok mi lady!"
"And we are coming back the same day," I added firmly. "If you decide to sleep over, l will come back to school alone."
She pouted instantly. "You know I should have left yesterday, but because of you I stayed back. Can't you stay till the next day? At least for my sake?"
"Capital NO."
She gasped dramatically. "Okay madam, as you wish, Your Royal Majesty. This one you even agreed to follow me self na by grace."
I couldn't help laughing as she sashayed out of the room, still acting cute.
After she left, the laughter faded.
I arranged my notes carefully, stacked my sketchbook inside my bag, and selected a few of my best pieces to take along. If I was going, I was going prepared.
Tomorrow could change something.
Or nothing.
But I would not go empty-handed.
I packed a modest dress. Nothing flashy. Something decent.
As I zipped my bag, a thought crossed my mind—Why is she so desperate for me to come?
Fola was not someone who begged.
But I brushed it aside.
Unaware that Folakemi had her own agenda.
She wanted to prove a point.
To show her family she had at least one "decent" friend. Someone who didn't dress scantily. Someone who didn't stagger home at midnight. Someone her brothers couldn't criticize.
Especially her senior brother, Olalekan, who had just returned from Europe—a well-known surgeon abroad.
And the second one, Oladeji.
The terror of her life.
Oladeji, who headed their father's companies. The one preparing her to join the board after graduation. The one constantly warning her about reputation, image, and public perception.
He didn't doubt her intelligence.
He doubted her lifestyle.
He feared the board of directors would reject her because of the company she kept.
And tomorrow…
She planned to present me like evidence.
See? I have decent friends too.
I shook my head, unaware of the silent storm waiting in that house.
After packing, I left the room and called my two friends who had also moved back to the hostel. We had all agreed campus living would save us cost.
"Cafeteria. Now," I told them.
As I walked across campus, the evening breeze brushing against my face, doubt crept in again.
Was this wise?
Or was I walking into something bigger than I imagined?
I adjusted my hijab slightly and tightened my grip on my bag.
Tomorrow would tell.