The old phone booth barely had a working signal.
Dust clung to its glass like forgotten prayers, and the receiver crackled with every breath. Abu Bakr had walked three miles to get there—dodging broken concrete, tanks in the distance, a land stripped to its bones.
In his hand: two protein bars. His last ones.
He handed them to a man who lived inside a burned-out kiosk, who only nodded once and handed him ten precious minutes.
The line rang.
Once.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmZuuMvRx6h
Twice.
Then—his mother’s voice.
And his chest cracked like a dam giving way.
“Mama,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m okay. I’m okay. But—Gaza…”
He told her everything.
The courtyard with no roof.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm2eg3SWhpB
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrTH6cxMXhi
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvpVnjx7FMc
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpSRHFJxdue
“And now I can’t stop repeating her.”
There was a pause.
And then his father's voice—firm, deep, kind.
“If she is of deen,” his father said gently, “then she is already of your destiny. But son... you must protect her.”
“I will,” Abu Bakr promised.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡt1p18fAK6a
And the line went dead.
But the vow echoed on.
The next morning, he gathered the kids in the courtyard.
Some still had chocolate stains on their shirts.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvihaJWsIjV
Others had sleep in their eyes and bandaids on their knees.
He stood in front of them—nervous, serious, and grinning all at once.
“I need your help,” he said.
One kid squinted. “Is this a math test again?”
“Nope,” he said. “Better.”
Another gasped. “Is it chocolate milk?!”
He laughed.
“Better than chocolate milk. This is forever.”
SCREEEEEEEAMINGGGGGGGGGG
The courtyard erupted in chaos. Kids screamed, hugged each other, spun in circles. Amal fell over from excitement. Bilal clapped so hard his sandal flew off.
Then came the plotting. And ohhh bbg, the plotting was PLANNED.
They whispered. They sprinted. They tugged on Hanni’s sleeves, giggling like little secret agents.
“Miss Hanni, come quick!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡirndIJUXbJ
“Wear your nice abaya please!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKgHz2qaSKo
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJoXNbgmbJG
“THIS IS IMPORTANT!!!”
She blinked, still sore from the raid. Her ribs ached. Her niqab was tied tighter than usual, a shield from the pain of the world.
But the children had that look in their eyes again. That glow.
So she followed.
They led her to the masjid.
The masjid.
Where she’d first seen him.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDrdprDyyhj
Back when she was just a woman clutching her Qur’an, avoiding the tall stranger surrounded by kids who called him the King One.
The masjid lights flickered gently, halos of gold pooling on the ground like blessings spilled.
And then she gasped.
Because he was there.
Abu Bakr.
No dusty keffiyeh. No scuffed sandals.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8iPrQAKf5W
Just a fresh white thobe. Clean. Soft beard combed back. Standing tall.
And in his hand?
A small, beautifully carved ring—made of olive wood from the very tree Amal used to sit under and read Qur’an.
No roses.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeIDZjg0MCM
No crowd.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1z8uHTWRJL
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEYokOnu29D
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp7tpqObHg9
And him.
He took a step forward.
And when he spoke, his voice was a whisper built from sujood and sincerity.
“Hanni…”
“I saw you in sujood before I ever saw you in person.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlRei2gA9Kg
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTEY8FuEjUA
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoGH06EQ1Em
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlOlmqaf5sW
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbdk5nQMWos
But what I have… is yours.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTGo31TpAp4
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxaT2KhkHV0
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP3OxVLDJRQ
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTYAyygYrwV
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdqUMF0OdDK
One child tried to start a dabke and tripped over a prayer rug.
Even the elderly imam in the corner, who hadn’t smiled in weeks, nodded sagely and said:
“May Allah grant you children who memorize the Qur’an… and throw a good punch.”
Abu Bakr chuckled.
Hanni blushed so hard her ears went pink under her niqab.
And then, quietly—
They stood.
Not touching.
Just close.
Two souls locked, shoulder to shoulder, hearts leaning, like prayer and prostration.
No fancy gold.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFxC2wgShxR
No big wedding.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQtt8FeQwXf
Just a ring made of wood.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2L77eUND6u
A courtyard full of orphans.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnsyk23BtZZ
And a love carved from duas, discipline, and deep, deep faith.
And when they stepped out of the masjid together?
The wind felt like a new beginning.
Because in the land of rubble and resistance—13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2aGAx5X5wN
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi4Rf1ty955
start with Bismillah.
