Short Halal Love Stories

||Under the Olive Tree||

In 1920, the serene village of Battir, nestled near Jerusalem, was a place where the air was thick with the scent of olive trees and the laughter of children playing in the fields. I was just twelve years old when my mother took me out to play. 

The golden sun bathed the fields in a warm glow as I chased my ball until my legs grew weary. Finding solace, I sat down under a magnificent olive tree, its branches spreading wide and providing cool shade. My mother, with her gentle smile, always reminded me to say "Subhanallah" when I saw something beautiful that Allah created, so I did just that.

As I caught my breath, a soft voice broke the silence. "You look tired," it said. I turned to see a girl emerging from behind the tree. She had an easy smile and eyes that sparkled with kindness. She handed me a bottle of water, and I drank gratefully, feeling the cool liquid revive me.

"Shukran! (Thank you)," I said, smiling back.

"My name is Noor. What about you?" she asked, her curiosity evident.

"I'm Muhammad," I replied. She seemed to be around my age, perhaps a year younger.

Our mothers approached, drawn by our laughter, and they quickly struck up a conversation. From that day on, Noor and I became inseparable. Every day, we would meet under that same olive tree, sharing our dreams and learning from each other. As the years passed, our bond deepened. Noor was fourteen, and I was sixteen when I wrote her a poem, which she cherished.

We made a promise to always be together. However, our peaceful days were shattered when an attack forced our families to flee. As we were hurried away, Noor and I cried, begging our parents to let us say goodbye, but there was no time. We were torn apart, and I carried the memory of her with me as we sought safety in another city.

Years passed, and I threw myself into my studies and eventually started a business selling olive oil. Life moved on, but the memory of Noor and our olive tree never faded. One day, business called me back to Battir for an important meeting. After the meeting, an inexplicable pull led me back to our olive tree.

There, standing under the branches, was a beautiful woman dressed in white, her hijab framing her face. She was humming softly, lost in her own world. My heart pounded as I approached her, my voice barely a whisper. "Noor...?"

She stopped humming and turned, her eyes widening in recognition. "Muhammad, is that really you?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief and joy.

We stood there, drinking in the sight of each other after six long years. "I wish I had some way to contact you," I said. "I moved away and started a business. What happened to you?"

"I moved as well," she replied, tears brimming in her eyes. "But I came back looking for you. I missed you and wanted to find you."

"So did I," I confessed. "I came here looking for you. I love you, Noor."

Our reunion brought joy to our families, who were overjoyed to see us together again. I asked Noor's father for her hand in marriage, and he accepted with a warm smile. Under the very olive tree where we first met, we had our nikkah. 

The tree, which had witnessed our innocent friendship, now stood as a testament to our enduring love.

Together, under the olive tree's ancient branches, we started a new chapter, cherishing the love that had blossomed from a simple childhood meeting into a lifelong bond.