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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2AXbnsi8lJ
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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3UopoqhFby
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZf9sU01NgA
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPg8Vy1k11I
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv61kWbTSWc
“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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD3DSYs1ZZG
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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUAbH0PTbxs
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!”109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtGyyBoFbAX
“Wear your nice abaya please!”109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvmpCd8LsqT
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGKtjnQM4gm
“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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy8yLeqxzth
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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxslk1t253h
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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡek1vaGK92Y
No crowd.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjgzJqN8NTd
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzGepIPigud
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR5P7sjqjHi
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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhtXVOoZtut
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgAtgANroPO
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡphoC3JMjZF
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj5bABRs59P
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqKxozMvyfl
But what I have… is yours.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDMwcx4GIwU
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8wmpiNEQn0
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcbJdqAQMgi
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4gdvt66msj
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSQADRH0zU6
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.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIkafTQQos6
No big wedding.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWRIqAZWwhZ
Just a ring made of wood.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwtXWlRNd28
A courtyard full of orphans.109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM3iRwpuKtg
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—109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOXxjvgDnws
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...109Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ73K9rNeEcz
start with Bismillah.
and then Add to home screen.