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.79Please respect copyright.PENANASJ6ae5zn2B
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.79Please respect copyright.PENANAWqkCZKMqym
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.79Please respect copyright.PENANAtdsKLMgHwM
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.79Please respect copyright.PENANA8LS0m4OElv
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.79Please respect copyright.PENANAg82fvSyfaV
“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.79Please respect copyright.PENANAj9C7edBI1G
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.79Please respect copyright.PENANAoONAJ9L9Jr
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!”79Please respect copyright.PENANA9d6np7eC4d
“Wear your nice abaya please!”79Please respect copyright.PENANAGglUKUYENQ
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”79Please respect copyright.PENANAtV8ZUU0zLS
“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.79Please respect copyright.PENANAHd0py1BMEE
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.79Please respect copyright.PENANA4xlQFnR3In
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.79Please respect copyright.PENANA1Lkp1a34lq
No crowd.79Please respect copyright.PENANAZH3CDKWVKK
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.79Please respect copyright.PENANAnOvPrQNSoX
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.79Please respect copyright.PENANAGWR3v14fOG
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.79Please respect copyright.PENANAlSGRFaIYhS
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.79Please respect copyright.PENANAhw1hGDnL5D
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.79Please respect copyright.PENANAFgdv9foA8q
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.79Please respect copyright.PENANA5DIFjCuny2
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.79Please respect copyright.PENANAStZccSROg8
But what I have… is yours.79Please respect copyright.PENANA66fC59cE9q
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.79Please respect copyright.PENANACv7pEbkel9
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.79Please respect copyright.PENANAdg8VCd7V65
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”79Please respect copyright.PENANAiBIRWpJfc8
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”79Please respect copyright.PENANAyI8hRhx5g7
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.79Please respect copyright.PENANAm87xgA2FMV
No big wedding.79Please respect copyright.PENANASTtwlRm75r
Just a ring made of wood.79Please respect copyright.PENANA1WDBH4TUbS
A courtyard full of orphans.79Please respect copyright.PENANAkwA5JMu99O
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—79Please respect copyright.PENANA8dZL6QIK1V
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...79Please respect copyright.PENANAdxeAtlb1Le
start with Bismillah.