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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO9hGAbi3s0
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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIGdkByxTgC
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdCGeY4weFo
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuRuAP020Kd
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrxtghfCHZZ
“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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSgAeGaTeRa
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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj6Moyxz7sm
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!”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXK9aALqiH8
“Wear your nice abaya please!”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJ8msHY1pi1
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhs6eeLvjWB
“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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3HYFy0ez3I
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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkG3s82y14H
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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFCqqE4WIHp
No crowd.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiPnn7iwrG2
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDGRbscESz4
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEx7CT1SqnK
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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXp0I3mriQ6
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9oE4cOizkx
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW8LHpZdO8Z
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡov1aEkc3ZW
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2GW6T231SJ
But what I have… is yours.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHTB1J6PrIC
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeeVvSJVBSE
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFRk06uYEUK
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3hE7Eu92tk
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2tzQYBDrm6
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.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7Zpaffh0fy
No big wedding.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡe97Txpx3dp
Just a ring made of wood.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZDZdIMyGgW
A courtyard full of orphans.12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEWwiYWmA7r
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—12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz2b9RX61Zx
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...12Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIevhH8Lsk7
start with Bismillah.
