The Untainted
– The Weight of Intentions
The silence in the private room thickened.
It was no longer the comfortable quiet of professionalism — it was calculated.
Segun folded his arms, studying her like one studies a product before purchase.
Bayo leaned back in his chair, eyes roaming carelessly, confidence dripping from the lazy curve of his smile.
"So," Segun began slowly, "we heard you're very talented."
"Alhamdulillah," Rihannat replied calmly. "I try my best."
Bayo chuckled. "You're modest too."
She didn't respond.
There was something about the way he said it.
Not admiration.
Assessment.
Like a hunter commenting on prey.
Segun reached into his pocket and placed an envelope on the table.
"We're launching a lifestyle brand soon. High-end. Exclusive. We need a face."
Rihannat blinked.
"A face?"
"Yes," Bayo said, leaning forward now. "A model. Someone elegant. Refined. Different."
The air shifted.
Her fingers tightened slightly under the table.
"I'm not a model."
"You could be," Bayo's voice softened. "With the right platform, the right exposure. You'd earn more in one campaign than you would in months of… calligraphy."
The slight emphasis on her craft did not go unnoticed.
Rihannat's gaze hardened — just a fraction.
"I was informed this meeting was about my services."
"It is," Segun replied smoothly. "We're offering you a service."
Bayo slid the envelope toward her.
She didn't touch it.
"What kind of brand?" she asked.
Segun hesitated for half a second.
"Fashion. Luxury wear. Evening pieces."
"Modest wear?" she asked directly.
The two men exchanged a glance.
Bayo smiled again.
"We can negotiate that."
Negotiate.
Her stomach turned.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," he said casually, "you don't have to dress like this all the time. You're beautiful. Why hide it? With some adjustments… you'd be extraordinary."
There it was.
The plan.
Not photography.
Not calligraphy.
Not business.
Her.
Her image.
Her body.
Her face without hijab.
Her modesty removed for profit.
The whisper in her heart grew louder.
Danger.
She inhaled slowly.
"Thank you," she said, her tone controlled. "But I'm not interested."
Segun's smile faltered.
"You haven't even heard the offer."
"I've heard enough."
Bayo leaned forward sharply. "Do you know how many girls would beg for this opportunity?"
"I am not those girls."
The room went quiet.
Her calmness unsettled them more than anger would have.
Bayo's jaw tightened.
"You came here. You accepted the invitation."
"Yes. For professional work."
"And this is professional."
"No," she said gently, but firmly. "It is not."
She stood up.
The chair scraped softly against the floor.
Segun's voice lost its smoothness. "Think carefully. We can make things easier for you in this campus."
A subtle threat.
So that was another layer.
Connections.
Influence.
Control.
Rihannat picked up her bag slowly.
"My rizq does not come from you."
Her voice did not shake.
"It comes from Allah."
For the first time, they had no response.
She walked toward the door.
Bayo's voice followed her.
"You'll regret it."
She paused briefly.
Without turning.
"I would regret losing myself more."
And then she left.
Outside, the evening air hit her face like freedom.
Her chest rose and fell heavily.
She hadn't realized how tense she'd been.
Her hands trembled slightly now that she was out.
"Ya Allah…" she whispered. "Thank You."
Her phone buzzed immediately.
Rayyan.
"Where are you? We're nearby."
Her eyes widened.
"Nearby?"
"Yes! You think we'd let you attend a private reservation alone?" Rayyan scoffed. "Send your location. We're outside."
Tears pricked her eyes.
She hadn't even known she needed that.
Minutes later, she stepped into their car.
Balkis turned fully in her seat. "What happened?"
Rihannat exhaled deeply.
"They didn't want my work."
Silence.
Rayyan's fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
"They wanted me."
Balkis's expression darkened.
"For modeling," Rihannat continued quietly. "Without hijab. Luxury brand."
Rayyan muttered under her breath.
"I knew it. Something didn't sit right."
Rihannat leaned her head back against the seat.
"For a moment, I wondered… what if I'm overreacting? What if it's harmless?"
"But it wasn't," Balkis said firmly.
"No," she agreed. "It wasn't."
Rayyan glanced at her through the mirror.
"Are you okay?"
Rihannat nodded.
"Yes."
And she meant it.
Because something had shifted inside her.
The strange pull she felt toward Basit.
The confusion.
The fear of emotions.
The desire to run.
She realized something now.
The heart is not the enemy.
Wrong intentions are.
Her feelings frightened her because they were unfamiliar — but they were pure.
What she experienced tonight?
That was different.
That was corruption disguised as opportunity.
And she could tell the difference.
Alhamdulillah.
Across campus, inside a parked car under dim lights, Bayo slammed his fist against the dashboard.
"She thinks she's better than us."
Segun's expression was colder now.
"No. She thinks she's protected."
Bayo scoffed. "Protected from what?"
Segun stared ahead.
"From men like us."
Silence.
Then a slow smile curved his lips.
"We'll see how long that protection lasts."
Back in the girls' hostel, Rihannat prayed two rak'ah before sleeping.
Her forehead rested on the prayer mat longer than usual.
"Ya Rabb… if something is not good for me, remove it from me. And if something is good for me, make it easy and halal."
A calm washed over her heart.
Some tests are loud.
Some are subtle.
Tonight, she passed one.
But the storm may not be over.
And somewhere in the shadows, intentions were beginning to grow darker.
>>>>>>>>
Will Segun and Bayo let this go?
And will Rihannat's heart finally confront the feelings she keeps running from?