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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKlw02QeZNa
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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjvrYqgsosu
The kids with hearts of gold and shoes made of tape.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvsCFbtIJHs
The water well. The laughter. The broken bread.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBkrf74i0qD
And her.
Hanni.
“She’s like the ayaat I never knew how to recite properly,” he breathed.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAivSVjd27U
“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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtk9raPN3Ym
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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGetCRzFZAV
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!”98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEMHWHNhq1o
“Wear your nice abaya please!”98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPoaEUx3I6T
“You can’t say no, you promised us hot cocoa yesterday!!!”98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZza3DDZYGr
“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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV6qrinIsbS
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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡirklDRvw6j
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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbiuCBahOFt
No crowd.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4sThLGmfBQ
Just the children watching with their hearts in their eyes.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4SVFinBFBj
A Qur’an, resting on a wooden stand.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDE70YxvTkA
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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGm8QMZdnJW
I knew you were special before I even knew your name.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT4Qoyyuhxy
And now—after fire, after broken bread, after every test of patience—I only know this:
I want to protect you.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxkigg6Aijb
Teach beside you. Heal beside you.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeRGEWEWLAS
Love you the way the Prophet ﷺ loved—with mercy, with dua, with every step toward Jannah.
I don’t have much.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡruB8ubJ2GN
But what I have… is yours.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYbV5Wu3hFC
Will you marry me?”**
Her hands shook.
Her eyes dropped to the prayer rug.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhBCVFZznki
She blinked. Once. Twice.
And then looked up.
Her voice? A breath wrapped in faith.
“Yes,” she whispered.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj9iTrvMi9p
“In every way that’s written for me. Yes.”
The MASJID. WENT. WILD.
Kids lost their minds.
“MISS HANNI IS GONNA BE MRS. BOXERRRRR!!!”98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF2X9ShbokM
“FINALLY WE CAN CALL YOU MAMA HANNI!!!”98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEvChxDxZTS
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.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxki0HV5oGF
No big wedding.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTPrOR7h5Q4
Just a ring made of wood.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXjK0aEf17g
A courtyard full of orphans.98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXcNXd2mVah
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—98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMM5lhm9Vyg
Sometimes the most powerful love stories...98Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2m6VoNANYU
start with Bismillah.
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