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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8Z9qhYerm9
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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvuTenu2wkf
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJwjbiZVbVn
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbMMaHaalj2
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB8OiJcTli1
“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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpxkDDgx7xc
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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm9kYP9ZiLW
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!”40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0bpGpI3DIL
“Wear your nice abaya please!”40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmgBQskUHp0
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWqD1QA5vVI
“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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcdXPNvDBhA
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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbmyikv1pda
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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoMoO9Hhv8y
No crowd.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAR5Nd9F4uv
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcNcH8z4YJx
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYR4uPuUSPK
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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgHZEGso0n4
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxV4sv0Q3nY
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlTXFFObKGI
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwJgnXiqAM7
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhIV9SdjXPo
But what I have… is yours.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtGrzHpGKUb
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzDQPzzNMRP
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKmcwSjtppN
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbN4VE0HxBW
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUpenxJiamO
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.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNbVo49uxYU
No big wedding.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEWGcbjOom5
Just a ring made of wood.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdn5Veujh4p
A courtyard full of orphans.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRvDEIHAAlW
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—40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE7Oz1IZChA
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3oFeWQ2evT
start with Bismillah.
and then Add to home screen.