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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOILIrW6go4
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHRShQqjC8v
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqWa39WTW2r
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhRzWN2rLgf
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrq69d3VkVR
“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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3K8SHxnnNb
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ53c3F9EXOw
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzI4ZPO0EmF
“Wear your nice abaya please!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjw3OaoeqXn
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrxdbDcX3IV
“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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4ExUvKBpYg
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCtHHt7TM3S
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡco0HXAPme4
No crowd.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUlxZgHdSTS
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM3t9iuOfHi
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQigU9FhpPE
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdYCsLkFOhk
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDeqkxziW56
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTOCdBXJ8jy
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZWI6zN5nph
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0cjTzkvemd
But what I have… is yours.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5ScUXMveAe
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzBn01CKFp3
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgCIE6HZNef
“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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOCgNI4hjl8
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGfS8dLWWZn
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU68kzWLIjD
No big wedding.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZjYmLpIntK
Just a ring made of wood.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhhSsUsfuv2
A courtyard full of orphans.80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAYltsbvXTT
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.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrYQXg222Si
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...80Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2UmLtpO36j
start with Bismillah.
