It was supposed to be a day of joy.
After weeks of sitting in heat that melted the ink off paper, weeks of scribbling multiplication on cardboard and memorizing ayahs by flashlight—they did it.
Every single child had passed their very first real test.
Even shy Bilal, who never spoke above a whisper.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZu80NcFp9N
Even Amal, the orphaned girl who used to flinch at loud sounds.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJDkXEOpaRW
Even sweet-eyed Hamza, who stuttered through every recitation but never once gave up.
They did it.
So Miss Hanni and Ustaadh Bakr walked to the market that morning, hearts light, laughter fluttering between them like birds finally learning to fly again.
The streets of Gaza were never quiet, but that day even the rubble hummed with something softer. Hope, maybe.
They bought sweet bread—fluffy and warm, made fresh by an old man who added an extra loaf "for the children with eyes like dua."8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL6GDrcIcUH
They found milk in dusty jugs.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwxzwI8FNcj
And on the very top shelf of a rickety stall, Hanni's eyes caught something rare: a tin of chocolate powder.
She gasped. Hand over heart.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuzsxal7zTJ
“Hot cocoa,” she whispered, like it was a miracle.
Abu Bakr looked at her like she was the miracle.
“Let’s make it for them,” he said simply.
Her eyes widened. “Really?”8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0Y0asbxYAV
“You kidding? I told you—they’re my little champions. And champions deserve cocoa.”
They returned to the courtyard—a roofless room that knew no walls but held more love than most palaces.
Abu Bakr built a fire from leftover wood scraps. Hanni stirred warm milk into chipped tin cups, added chocolate powder like it was treasure.
Steam rose.
Laughter followed.
Children wrapped tiny hands around mismatched mugs, sitting cross-legged like kings and queens on cracked stone.
Hanni walked barefoot through the space, serving them with a smile so wide and real it made her niqab look like starlight.
And Abu Bakr?
He was in the corner doing pushups because—duh. Even on cocoa day, the delts must remain deltin’ for da Ummah 💪🏽😭
“Ustaadh, how many is that?” one kid giggled.
“Too many for you to count, ya shaytaan,” he grinned, grunting dramatically.
“Twenty-four! Twenty-five!” another shouted, joining in.
They were alive.
But joy in Gaza is always on borrowed time.
The sky cracked.
A sound like the world snapping in half.
Boots.
Metal.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtospwYboY8
Shouting in Hebrew.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9gMCk7RoBo
The bark of military dogs.
Israeli soldiers stormed in—unannounced, unwanted, unholy.
Guns raised. Eyes dead. Souls long gone.
One soldier stomped across the courtyard and kicked over the milk jug.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3eSoJBzlI7
Another grabbed the bread and crushed it under his boot.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5kneCm0GuK
A third reached for a child—slapping the boy across the face so hard he fell back, dazed and bleeding.
And then—
One soldier shoved Hanni.
Hard.
She cried out as she hit the concrete. Her niqab twisted, slipping. Her Qur’an slid from her arms. She gasped, arm curling protectively around her ribs.
Abu Bakr’s roar split the air.
“WALLAHI I WILL—”
He moved forward—like thunder about to strike.
But then he stopped.
Because one wrong move, and they’d kill her.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKGTqdPEgNR
Or the kids.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoKdV71kOnz
Or all of them.
So he dropped to his knees.
Fists clenched so tight his nails bit skin. Jaw locked. Eyes burning. Rage bubbling like fire beneath ash.
But his soul went into sujood.
Because sometimes the most powerful form of resistance—is patience.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoxEyOs6ubY
And trust in a Judge greater than all tyrants.
They left as quickly as they came.
Tore through the courtyard like demons, and left nothing but ruin.
Silence hung in the air, thick like smoke.
And then—
The kids moved.
All of them.
Swarming Hanni like stars rushing to orbit around a fallen moon. They didn’t cry. Not yet. They acted.
They lifted her gently. Wiped the dust from her jilbab with tiny trembling hands. Held her Qur’an like it was sacred. Like she was sacred.
“Careful, careful, her ribs—!” a girl whispered.
“Is she okay? Ustaadh, say something!” another shouted, shaking.
She tried to speak, but only coughed. Her fingers trembled.
Then—a tiny boy stepped forward.
He couldn’t have been older than six. Dust on his cheeks. Tears crusting his lashes. He held a crumpled piece of bread in two hands like it was a sacred offering.
He knelt beside her, eyes wide.
“Miss Hanni…” he whispered.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF4KCuAHxYJ
“I’ll get revenge for you one day. I promise.”
Her eyes filled.
But before she could reply, he held the broken bread to her hand and added, voice shaking:
“But for now… eat this. Even if… even if you’re sweeter than it.”
And Hanni?
She laughed. Through pain. Through tears. Through the blood on her lip and the fire in her ribs. She laughed, and it sounded like survival.
Abu Bakr turned away.
Only for a second.
To hide the tears falling down his face like broken prayers.
Because this man had fought champions in rings across the world.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQLlESbA9jM
He’d been bruised, battered, broken.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ03qaR7mHIU
But **nothing—nothing—**had ever hurt more than seeing her hit the ground.
Later that night, when the kids had gone to sleep and the courtyard was silent again, he sat beside her as she sipped cocoa through cracked lips.
“I should’ve stopped them,” he whispered, voice thick.
“You did.” she replied, quiet but sure.
“How?”
“You didn’t give them what they came for,” she said, eyes on the stars. “They wanted to break something holy. And all they did… was prove how unholy they are.”
And Abu Bakr nodded.
Because he realized then—
They didn’t beat the soldiers with fists or fury.
They beat them with faith.
With resilience.
With a cup of cocoa, shared on a battlefield.
And the next day?
They taught class.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQQRquudbFn
Because that's how you win.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO3ytQh8Ew2
8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1SNycbcmrm
(sorry for the delay I was busy..)8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoaPfedoeio
