The Untainted
"The holidays were shorter… or am I the only one feeling this way?" Rayyan complained, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as they walked through the buzzing school corridor.
Students filled the walkway again — laughter, footsteps, greetings, the familiar scent of books and perfumes mixing in the air. The campus was alive.
Rihannat laughed lightly. "See our mama here. I was the one counting days for school to resume. It felt too long for me."
Balkis smiled at their exchange — not the forced, guarded smile she used to wear, but something softer. Genuine.
Rayyan glanced at her from the corner of her eyes.
Alhamdulillah… things are finally moving in the right direction. She's healing.
Her heart settled with gratitude.
The days slipped by quietly. Lectures, assignments, late-night reading sessions. Before they realized it, one month had already passed since resumption.
But something else had quietly taken root.
Rihannat had been avoiding Basit.
No argument. No misunderstanding. No incident.
Just… avoidance.
And the most confusing part? She didn't even know why.
Anytime she saw him from a distance, her heart reacted before her mind could process it. It would pull — a strange tug deep within her chest. Her heartbeat would change rhythm, uneven and unfamiliar.
It frightened her.
What was that feeling?
Attachment?
Interest?
Danger?
A whisper inside her warned, This is not safe.
So instead of confronting the emotion, she ran from it.
Avoided hallways he used. Skipped gatherings he might attend. Turned corners quickly whenever she spotted his tall figure.
If she didn't see him, she wouldn't feel it.
Simple.
Or so she thought.
She now sat alone in an empty classroom — her new hiding place. Her "reading space."
Books open.
Pen in hand.
Mind elsewhere.
Her eyes scanned the pages, but nothing entered.
Her heart refused to focus.
"What is wrong with me?" she murmured, pressing her fingers against her temple.
Silence answered her.
The classroom door suddenly creaked open.
"Oh thank God!" A cheerful voice filled the room. "I've been searching for you for thirty minutes! Someone said you would be here — that this is your new reading space. And thank God I found you!"
Rihannat looked up slowly.
The lady standing before her was smiling brightly — too brightly for someone she didn't recognize.
"I'm sorry… do I know you?" Rihannat asked carefully. "Your face doesn't look familiar."
The lady waved her hand dismissively.
"Oh we're from the same department! My parents mentioned you to me. And my brother would like to see you today — five p.m. It's a private reservation. Please don't disappoint me."
She dropped a sleek reservation pass and an address on the desk.
"My parents said — and I quote — 'Treat her as you would a good friend.' So please go."
She smiled again.
Then left.
Just like that.
Rihannat blinked.
Her mouth slightly open.
"I don't even know her…" she muttered.
She didn't wait for me to speak. She just smiled, talked, dropped paper and left. One-man dialogue.
Then realization struck.
Her parents?
Mustopha's family party.
Folakemi's brother's welcoming event.
That extravagant gathering.
"Oh…"
She stared at the address again.
An expensive restaurant.
Private reservation.
"What should I even do with this?" she whispered.
Logic kicked in.
It's public. It's business. You're starting your own company. Meetings like this will happen often. Consider this practice.
But that quiet, persistent unease pressed against her ribs.
It's not that simple.
She inhaled deeply.
"Ya Allah, I rely on You. Protect me. Let this be fruitful."
She packed her books and decided to inform her friends.
If she was stepping into something new, she would do it with awareness — and du'a.
5:00 PM sharp.
Rihannat stepped into the restaurant.
It was elegant. Soft lighting. Polished marble floors. The faint scent of expensive cuisine filled the air.
A man at the entrance guided her politely toward a private room on the right.
He opened the door.
She stepped in.
Two men sat opposite each other at a long table.
Her brows knit slightly.
She said one person… right?
She offered her salam.
They responded with a hesitant, broken one.
The kind that felt rehearsed.
She straightened.
"Good evening. I'm sorry, I assumed you were Muslims."
"It's fine," one of them replied smoothly. "Please, have a seat."
One stood and pulled the chair beside him for her.
She stepped back.
"Thank you."
And instead chose the chair at the far end of the table.
A silent message.
Distance.
The two men exchanged a glance.
Something unspoken passed between them.
She cleared her throat.
"Let's begin. I won't be staying long."
Professional tone. Firm.
"Your sister mentioned you required my services. Is it for calligraphy? Painting? Or photography?"
They smiled.
"We've ordered food. Won't you let us eat first?" the one on the opposite side asked, amused. "And you didn't even ask our names."
"Oh— sorry. I'm Rihannat."
"Segun."
"Bayo."
They leaned back casually.
"I don't eat out," she said calmly. "And I'm fine, thank you."
"Not even a drink?" Bayo pressed.
"No."
Their expressions changed subtly.
Not obvious.
But darker.
Bayo's gaze lingered too long.
He had been staring since she walked in.
Her beauty had been described to them earlier — but reality surpassed it. Even in her modest dressing, even with her hijab framing her face, she carried something… ethereal.
Understated.
Quiet.
Captivating.
And it unsettled them.
She was not behaving the way they expected.
She kept distance. Refused food. Refused drink. Stayed professional.
Bayo clenched his jaw slightly.
If she leaves now, what happens to the plan?
Segun spoke again, leaning forward.
"So… you're starting your own company?"
"Yes."
"That's ambitious."
"I believe in earning through skill."
Her eyes were steady.
Confident.
Unapologetic.
Bayo's smile thinned.
They had expected someone naïve.
Easily impressed by expensive settings.
Distracted by attention.
But she was composed.
Alert.
Something in her spirit had sensed danger.
Even if she couldn't name it.
Inside, her heart whispered again.
Be careful.
She folded her hands calmly on the table.
"If this meeting is strictly professional, we can proceed."
The air thickened.
The mask of politeness wavered.
Segun leaned back slowly, measuring her.
Bayo tapped his fingers lightly against the table.
The plan had been simple.
Charm. Flatter. Distract. Offer "opportunities." Control the situation.
But she was not cooperating.
And now they were recalculating.
Outside the restaurant, evening shadows stretched across the pavement.
Inside the private room, tension coiled quietly beneath polite smiles.
And somewhere deep within her chest, Rihannat's heart refused to relax.
She was here to build her future.
But not at the cost of herself.
Not at the cost of her dignity.
And not at the cost of her deen.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>*******
Do they want her work… or something else?
And how far are they willing to go?
Sometimes life tests those who choose modesty and effort over shortcuts.
But one thing remains certain —
A woman who stands firm in her values is not easy prey.
And perhaps…
Seems they have just met the wrong girl.
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