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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdK7fzJCoWO
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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3yZJiiH0xe
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ5TZqRGw1i
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrWICgb6FK9
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXLZKNHm7LP
“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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmKkyzyCAS2
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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8zjkf6V4Zy
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!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZW2jPqcc9i
“Wear your nice abaya please!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnt8Wp3Pvdv
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH8Ej9yQ7tG
“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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKH0DukSmRB
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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIeouM8Wk4g
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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM2m1A7FKoV
No crowd.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZk05lJr63h
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC51fciTv9D
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4JiZeswCxC
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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpUznMRRmsF
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRIvGiUK02p
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtKg2WND7ai
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnV7O7EkiTs
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkXbvulBaag
But what I have… is yours.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ38S2JEvE3p
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb2BSd3bj79
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxXzTloGNGQ
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDJ1YGBgJNC
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI2IZtYcKCS
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.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEmJniPvIAB
No big wedding.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKQLs0H1CxV
Just a ring made of wood.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoOkHn11wGC
A courtyard full of orphans.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTJnqmH793n
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—80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFO3vCuoqJy
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGWvxlmwL44
start with Bismillah.
