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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ZVzJcP43v
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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOGo0CY1fzw
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWMKjq8fdtA
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLnLdnvUda5
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA1GcTSZ1i1
“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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgiYjlzLdJu
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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4G9jSvvrAB
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!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbdqWGISoms
“Wear your nice abaya please!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡanRLVEitHg
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSKPxXZdvNo
“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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsv0yJDTK1L
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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtvwYKKIg4m
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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡja0TeKZbt3
No crowd.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqi8mRIHpcK
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcUvBTT1MFk
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYd5v9dR4Cf
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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv7VQeTOGMF
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ292YTsRNlL
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdpzkB6ZrQu
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRpnwxU1gfL
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡloilQJh4UX
But what I have… is yours.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOUOVh5ShMS
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0VYyiaQOTL
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9MfOXXsmgd
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUled7F9FxX
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeFehWtTuYp
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.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbTAp0GjGFy
No big wedding.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLHv86RNkcv
Just a ring made of wood.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrcAAzGViCC
A courtyard full of orphans.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPz8HFBJBSI
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—13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3BruGFJ2ET
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7JgiTPWfeq
start with Bismillah.
