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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGegd4xlz98
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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyP0pxUMxX6
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhJrCRPhcYq
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKXGEw1JlFW
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2LrRuNukIH
“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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY3DJvJoDJi
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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEAvvgM5EhK
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!”83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeqkUR3v3cf
“Wear your nice abaya please!”83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQXNQ1OmDhz
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX8gJpjuEn2
“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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6UzK511js8
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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZSqOYvHYLN
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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnrSjSUP3xF
No crowd.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ79DWRGYPfz
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX5ZHzcGv88
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhYtXmspaun
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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMjvBfXsQ6p
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmEg0ZUwKz5
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRJIvHIEV1M
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmNiQ4ae82x
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxrqShezuOl
But what I have… is yours.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBGMeLQWcXy
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSaHOdvrBYY
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGgMoHUlyFi
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkBC8AgvmQu
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFva7Oq9Bx9
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.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡN3YyQrqGy2
No big wedding.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIdfVYdz519
Just a ring made of wood.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI0B8km4LNv
A courtyard full of orphans.83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8oYKEItEC3
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—83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpxlRJlZWIa
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...83Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmzxrOiUXm3
start with Bismillah.
and then Add to home screen.