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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMcsIVKZ8he
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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRMIooifsZF
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOL9biSFSxS
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvku0akxjwT
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjOIWZm6HUc
“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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6JfL0btdrm
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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw1l6Z5Df91
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!”32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhzHB7Xvvf1
“Wear your nice abaya please!”32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7NwIq5gtQM
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYALJCzWraB
“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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVSHGUhvdVe
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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9VSzIvSoib
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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeiiY6ASHzn
No crowd.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIX1x6FdxOe
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjSFwoVtTF7
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8CJ5jgK1eu
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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcpoBGBs8X4
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu89J6tjIA8
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoXFOYrsKyk
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ10zBciRU45
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEtQNHrcoqM
But what I have… is yours.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLoq83OzgY1
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5xaO6ZqzyM
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq4z3uFlcoD
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNt2Bk6SHUW
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnFTz5B1akq
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.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz3qa9jDVLq
No big wedding.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdIe1VNwDo8
Just a ring made of wood.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNEnBTcOROf
A courtyard full of orphans.32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8iVQVWQ53p
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—32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd5zsNbD1ma
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUbrGvPugu8
start with Bismillah.
and then Add to home screen.