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.
