The abandoned bar stood isolated in the desolate Swedish countryside, far removed from the urban chaos they had escaped. The bar's exterior, once a welcoming beacon, was now weathered and worn, its paint peeling. The surrounding landscape was a vast expanse of rolling fields and sparse, skeletal trees, their branches reaching out like twisted fingers against the pale sky.

Inside, the bar was a snapshot of decay and neglect. Dust motes danced lazily in the shafts of weak sunlight that filtered through the grimy windows, casting long shadows across the room. The floorboards creaked softly underfoot, and the air was thick with the musty scent of disuse, tinged with the faint, lingering aroma of old beer and stale cigarettes.

Ming and Nikolaj had settled into a corner booth, the once-red leather seats now cracked and faded. The bar counter was cluttered with remnants of a forgotten past—empty bottles, tarnished glasses, and a stack of dusty coasters. A few old, mismatched chairs were scattered around, their cushions threadbare and sagging.

Nikolaj slouched against the bar, His jacket drying nearby, he sat with one foot on the booth sofa. His t shirt and pants damp and his face tired but alert. He absentmindedly traced the rim of a chipped glass, occasionally sipping from a water bottle as he stared into the distance. The soft light from a flickering, dusty ceiling lamp created a halo of warmth in the otherwise cool and dim space.

Ming sat on a wobbly bar stool, the threadbare hoodie draped over her lap as she meticulously worked on sewing up a cut. The dim light from the flickering lamp cast a soft glow on her focused face, highlighting the deep concentration etched into her features. Her fingers, deft and practiced, moved with careful precision, threading the needle through the frayed fabric. The cut, jagged and uneven, was slowly being mended with small, deliberate stitches.

Occasionally, she paused to adjust the fabric, her eyes scanning her work with a critical gaze. The needle punctured the fabric with a soft, rhythmic sound, the coarse thread drawing the edges of the tear together. Each movement was purposeful. As she worked, the gentle hum of the wind outside and the occasional creak of the bar's old wooden floor were the only distractions from her steady, focused task.

As Ming worked on sewing the cut in her hoodie, her eyes occasionally met Nikolaj's across the dimly lit bar. Nikolaj, seated at the bar counter, watched her with a mix of curiosity and concern. His own gaze was steady, his eyes reflecting a weariness that matched her own, but also a quiet appreciation for her resourcefulness.

The wind outside howled violently, rattling the boarded-up windows and causing the occasional shudder through the bar’s worn frame. The gusts created a rhythmic backdrop to their silence, a constant reminder of the world beyond their temporary sanctuary. Despite the ferocity of the storm outside, inside, the atmosphere was one of calm focus. Their occasional eye contact was a silent communication, a shared recognition of the tenuous calm they were afforded and the unspoken bond forged through their trials.

Ming’s eyes flicked up from her task, a wry smile playing on her lips as she teased, “I hope you’re not staring at my chest.”

Nikolaj chuckled, his gaze shifting from her to the map he held. “Not at all,” he replied, a grin he hadn’t had in a long time spreading across his face. He leaned in closer, spreading the map on the table between them. “If we stay on this road, we should be clear for the next fifty kilometers.”

“That’s a long walk.” She said.

Nikolaj nodded.

After that we take this one and follow for a few more dozen kilometers.

As Ming continued to sew, the steady rhythm of her needle punctuating the fabric was interrupted by a moment of silence. She glanced up at Nikolaj, who was absently studying the map.

“You mentioned earlier that you grew up in Trollhättan,” Ming began, her voice breaking the quiet. “What was it like there? Your childhood, I mean.”

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Nikolaj looked up, momentarily caught off guard by the question. He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the map. “Uh, it was pretty quiet. I was the only child, so I spent a lot of time on my own.”

Ming nodded thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving him. “Was it hard for you, being an only child?”

Nikolaj shifted slightly, his gaze drifting to the dusty bar shelves. “Yeah, I guess it was. I was pretty shy at school, so I didn’t have a lot of friends. It felt like I was always a bit on the outside.”

Ming’s curiosity was piqued, and she pressed on gently. “And then you moved to Berlin? That must have been a big change.” Nikolaj couldn’t remember when he had mentioned that to her. He also didn’t know if she was genuinely interested or if she was just making polite conversation.

“Yeah, it was,” Nikolaj said, a faint smile touching his lips. “Living alone in a big city was overwhelming at first, but it helped me open up. The army, too—it forced me to adapt and be more social.”

There was a pause, and Ming watched him carefully. “And what about your family? Did they support your decision to join the army?”

Nikolaj’s expression clouded for a moment, and he looked away. “They were worried, but they understood. My parents were both teachers, so they always wanted me to be safe. I think they were relieved when I found something that helped me fit in better.”

Ming took in his words, her gaze softening. The wind howled outside, and the light outside cast long shadows across their faces. Ming’s unexpected openness, though brief, created a rare moment of connection between them.

“How did you end up in Stockholm?” He asked. Ming’s needle paused mid-stitch as Nikolaj’s question hung in the air. She glanced up from her work, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of hesitation.

“Stockholm?” she repeated, the word almost foreign in her quiet tone. “It’s a long story.”

Nikolaj leaned forward slightly, intrigued. “I’ve got nothing but time. How did you end up there?”

Ming took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the fabric. “Well since I didn’t technically exist in China it made it only easier for me to get fake papers. The old women who raised me and who I gave half my salary had some contacts who made all of this happen. They got me papers when I was 23 and I left for Sweden then.”

“You didn’t technically exist?” Nikolaj asked confused.

“I was given up at birth. Back then people were only allowed to have one kid. And you couldn’t waste the one offspring being a girl. I was lucky, allot of girls were killed at birth. Spent my early childhood with that women I told you about and six other girls in my situation. And when I was old enough I was sent to work in a factory.

Nikolaj’s eyes widened slightly, reflecting a mix of sympathy and surprise. “That, wow.”

Ming gave a curt nod, her expression hardening as she continued. “It was. I worked in Chinese restaurants to get by when I got here, barely scraping through but I made five times what I did back in Shenzen. I ended up in Stockholm because it was my best chance for a new start, even though I didn’t know much about the city or the language.”

The wind outside howled, rattling the bar’s windows and adding a haunting backdrop to Ming’s story. Nikolaj studied her intently, the weight of her words settling between them.

“But here we are both of us” she said quietly, her voice filled with a newfound understanding.

Nikolaj offered a small, tired smile. “Yeah, don’t compare my situation to yours.”

The silence that followed was filled with a shared sense of resilience, both of them grappling with their past.

“You think your parent’s will be there? In that summer cottage of them?” Ming asked.

“I can only hope. I hope I get to see them again. I hope they get to meet you.”

Ming laughed hard for a moment as she smiled.

The silence in the bar was punctuated only by the wind’s persistent howling outside. Ming took a deep breath, her eyes lingering on Nikolaj’s thoughtful face.

“Hey, Nikolaj,” she said, breaking the quiet. “While we’re here, could you check if there’s any alcohol left behind the counter?”

Nikolaj blinked, surprised by the request. “You want a drink?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ming shrugged, a small, weary smile touching her lips. “It’s been a long day and we have a long ride tomorrow. A drink might help take the edge off.”

Nikolaj nodded, pushing himself up from his seat. He moved behind the bar with a practiced ease, his hands working through the cluttered shelves and drawers. The dim light cast shadows over the bottles and glasses, adding a nostalgic feel to the scene.

After a few minutes of rummaging, Nikolaj emerged with a dusty bottle, a local Swedish black currant liqueur, and a half-empty bottle of something else. He set them down on the bar, his expression a mix of satisfaction and mild amusement.

“Looks like we’ve got a choice,” he said, holding up the bottles. “This is Absolut Kurant—And this,” he said, picking up the other bottle, “is Kopparberg Pear Cider.”

Ming eyed the bottles with curiosity before laughing. “You expect me to know what either of those are. What do they taste like?”

Nikolaj smiled as he poured a modest serving of the Kurant into a chipped glass. “The Kurant is pretty smooth and sweet. It has a rich berry flavor, a bit like a strong fruit cordial. The cider is more refreshing, with a crisp pear taste. It’s good for something lighter.”

Ming accepted the glass of Kurant with a grateful nod. She took a cautious sip, her expression changing to one of pleasant surprise as the sweet, fruity notes danced across her taste buds.

Nikolaj poured himself a glass of cider, taking a sip as well. The drink, though not perfect, felt like a small victory amidst the chaos. They clinked their glasses together in a quiet toast.

“To surviving another day,” Nikolaj said, his voice steady.

Ming raised her glass with a faint smile. “To making it through.”