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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEwTsuNXwFE
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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡortjpfK86Q
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmERCUVG3T7
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcCJTKeKhxh
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwZUeARV2J0
“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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ94aruhp7lQ
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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtzGYBqHkgH
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!”62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQTOMfdou5k
“Wear your nice abaya please!”62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeN0wGTb6tc
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlASFXQfYM8
“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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnzCrD1QxYA
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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvjKNgpVcjy
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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAuFhvIRd41
No crowd.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeRHyn2fUFk
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHiGhUjWO2r
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKrbg0435SY
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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXqK2QzMW0m
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh4whzkumfK
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXA9jVu45ll
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEqXwZimMyr
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMSzdVwnaWb
But what I have… is yours.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡndPnJl4DHq
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3AJUF1H0J0
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9kuzFCm9na
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTCaMfTJZcy
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmFzzxMA5RL
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.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFZjtVfyc3i
No big wedding.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUBrBXu12Kk
Just a ring made of wood.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5GRPjbLPuy
A courtyard full of orphans.62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp4OTQg8FNx
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—62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0JTEu9pvmY
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd8rL4JZFLV
start with Bismillah.
and then Add to home screen.