The Untainted
Chapter Two
The next day unfolded just like every other weekday for Rihannat — a quiet rhythm of lectures, scribbled notes, and purposeful movement from one class to another.
By the time she settled into her last lecture of the day, the afternoon sun streamed lazily through the classroom windows. Students were restless, already thinking about home, but Rihannat remained focused. Her pen moved swiftly across her notebook as she completed the final lines of her assignment.
When the lecture ended, she neatly arranged her papers, stood up, and walked toward the front where Basit sat.
Basit, the class president.
He collected the assignments with calm authority, greeting each student politely. When Rihannat reached him, she handed over her work without unnecessary conversation.
"Your project," Basit said gently, glancing up at her. "It's due in five days. How far have you gone?"
"I've started the analysis," she replied simply. "I'll complete the draft before the weekend."
He nodded, impressed as always. "Good. We should meet tomorrow to review everything together."
"That's fine," she answered, already turning to leave.
Basit watched her walk away, his chest tightening slightly.
They were both students in the Business Department, and as their group leader, he had worked with her several times. Yet, Rihannat remained a mystery he hadn't been able to solve.
Basit came from a well-known family. His father was a respected business tycoon across Africa and internationally. His mother, a renowned architect, had built projects that people admired both at home and abroad. Success surrounded him, yet it had never defined him.
He was calm. Reserved. Disciplined.
He has a junior sister, Faridat, who studies Architecture in the same university. Like him, she carries herself with quiet dignity. Though many girls wanted to be her friend because of her family name, she kept her circle small. Her closest friend was Farhan — someone she trusted for her sincerity, not status.
Basit and Faridat were raised in a disciplined, God-fearing home. Their parents had taught them humility before wealth, character before reputation. That training showed in their behavior. They blended in with other students without pride or arrogance, and perhaps that humility made them even more admired.
For Basit, admiration from girls was nothing new. Many had tried to get close to him. Some flirted openly. Others pretended to need academic help. A few even used their beauty as currency.
But he had politely rejected them all.
His only true friend remained Ridwan, his childhood companion — someone who knew him before the family name carried weight.
Yet there was one person Basit could not easily dismiss from his thoughts.
Rihannat.
He has been watching her for more than two years now.
Every group assignment revealed something about her. She worked diligently, never seeking attention. She never tried to impress him or take advantage of his position. In fact, she kept a noticeable distance from him — from all male students, actually.
She moved mostly with two close female friends. No unnecessary laughter with boys. No lingering conversations. No attention-seeking.
At first, Basit thought she was simply shy.
But over time, he realized it was something deeper — boundaries.
And somehow, those boundaries intrigued him more than anything else.
"She's so cold toward males," he muttered under his breath as he packed his bag. "But so approachable with females. So composed."
He sighed.
Straight lines. Clear limits. Untouchable — yet captivating.
Little did he know that while he was still seated there, lost in thought, Rihannat had already boarded a bus home.
When she reached her small apartment off campus, she dropped her bag gently and went straight to freshen up. The cool water against her skin washed away the heat and fatigue of the day.
After changing into comfortable clothes, she picked up her phone and dialed home.
Her mother answered almost immediately.
"My daughter! How are you? How is school?"
Rihannat smiled. "I'm fine, Mum. Classes are going well. I submitted an assignment today."
Her father's voice echoed faintly in the background, asking about her studies too.
They always asked.
They always cared.
School wasn't entirely easy for Rihannat. She's on scholarship. Though her parents supported her, she refused to burden them financially. She was gifted — incredibly talented with pencil and brush. She drew portraits, painted landscapes, and sometimes designed simple graphics for fellow students, she's good in calligraphy and taking pictures too. The little money she made from her art covered her personal expenses.
It gave her dignity.
It gave her independence.
After discussing academics and health, her mother's voice shifted slightly — softer, cautious.
"There are marriage proposals," her mother began carefully. "These men are wealthy. They can take care of you. Alhamdulillah, you are almost done with school. Marriage will reduce your stress. What do you say, my daughter?"
Rihannat closed her eyes.
The same conversation.
Again.
"Mum," she said gently, "I know you care about me."
"We only want the best for you."
"I know. But these men — they see my beauty first. What happens when it fades? Will they still cherish me? Will they still love me the same?"
Her mother was silent.
"No, Mum," she continued softly but firmly. "I don't want a man who chooses me because of my face. I want someone who sees my mind. My heart. My deen."
She inhaled slowly.
"Allah has been providing for me. He's still providing. With your prayers and the little I earn from my art, I'm fine. This is just a phase. I will survive it, and I will make you and Abu proud."
Her father's voice softened in the background. "We trust you, Rihannat."
"I love you both so much," she whispered. "Please don't worry about me."
Before her mother could continue persuading her, Rihannat gently ended the call — as she always did when the topic stretched too long.
She placed the phone on the bedside table and lay down.
The room was quiet.
Her mind wandered — not to marriage proposals, not to wealthy suitors — but to her unfinished painting resting against the wall.
And, unexpectedly, to Basit's question about the project.
She turned slightly on the bed.
"Why does he look at me like that sometimes?" she murmured.
She shook her head quickly.
"No distractions."
Just as Rihannat was about to close her eyes, her phone rang again.
She frowned and reached for it.
Unknown Number.
"Who is this?" she muttered.
After a brief hesitation, she answered.
"Hello? Who is..."
A male voice immediately came through the speaker.
"So you didn't save my number? Babe, why are you doing this? Can you just pity this soul here? Why won't you give me a chance? Your love is killi—"
"Don't call my line again," Rihannat said firmly and ended the call before he could finish.
She dropped the phone onto the bed and sighed.
This wasn't new.
Since her first year in the university, different boys had tried to get close to her. Some approached politely, while others were persistent. They complimented her beauty, asked for her number, offered gifts, and invited her to outings she had no interest in attending.
A few even mocked her boundaries.
"You'll change one day."
"You're too serious."
"Life is meant to be enjoyed."
Some tried to lure her into relationships that she knew would lead nowhere good. Late-night chats, secret meetings, emotional attachments—things she had always guarded herself against.
She had seen how some of her friends lost themselves in such relationships, how innocent conversations gradually turned into temptations and eventually led to regret.
Rihannat had promised herself long ago that she would not walk that path.
She wasn't perfect, but she feared Allah and valued the peace that came from protecting her heart.
A notification sound interrupted her thoughts.
A message had arrived from the same number.
Ree babe, pls just give me a chance ok. Can you send me your account number?
She stared at the message in disbelief.
A short, tired laugh escaped her lips.
As if money could buy affection.
Without replying, she blocked the number immediately and placed the phone back on the bedside table.
Then she looked up at the ceiling and whispered softly,
"Ya Allah, protect my heart and keep me firm upon Your path."
A calmness settled over her.
She switched off the lamp, pulled the blanket over herself, and finally allowed sleep to take over.
Outside, the night deepened — unaware that tomorrow's meeting would begin to unravel emotions.
And somewhere in his own room, Basit was staring at his ceiling, wondering how to step into a world that Rihannat had so carefully guarded.
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