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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYSdFsuDoOi
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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgEK0IRR0Nl
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYzYhsWQILX
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0IN8EXxy9L
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhHLqAPEEsN
“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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJOttXG5dXf
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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHJ1dG5QxRN
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!”43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV03HNfsjFl
“Wear your nice abaya please!”43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyHbvs65tzH
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMoNJ2C99NI
“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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOxnRnuQkG1
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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9LN6h7oMeK
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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHj5AbNki6o
No crowd.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdiDR1bbKIj
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDFDnUA0kM9
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbBTdBqidzc
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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcQp6W5EdUY
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbzdfjmCLmL
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9O7VJqYKT9
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzsWnlPcXnv
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwWFwjF263x
But what I have… is yours.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuWvA16y6ak
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡre3y8pMSVC
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQyGIjcBbkL
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGl1iDG90ly
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2kbAAm9pFB
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.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCizRQBLPd0
No big wedding.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHHwQbkrbrk
Just a ring made of wood.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKzvOF47m6P
A courtyard full of orphans.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvQGVABnCDx
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—43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsqhBnLlcEs
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNsQTCua173
start with Bismillah.
and then Add to home screen.