7. The Pub

Elliot keeps talking about the filtration device as we walk, his excitement bubbling over. “I really think these filters, no matter what people say, are doing their job.”

I give him a skeptical look. “Maybe, but the story behind them is shady. There are rumors all over the internet that the inventor hasn’t been seen in public for years.”

“Well,” Elliot says, waving it off. “Maybe he doesn’t want the spotlight. At least he’s contributing something good to the world.”

We reach the small cottage, its exterior giving off an old-world British charm. The weathered sign above the door reads The Train, and as soon as we step inside, the smell of aged wood and the warmth of the fire wrap around us like an old blanket. It feels like stepping back in time, with wooden tables and chairs spread around a bar that looks like it hasn’t changed in decades. Only the bartender—a sleek, polished machine—stands out, quietly mixing drinks behind the counter.

But what really stops us in our tracks is the tiny train that runs along iron tracks, winding its way through the pub, delivering drinks to the tables and newly arrived visitors.

“Now that’s a pub,” Elliot says, his eyes lighting up as the train whizzes by, carrying shots of whiskey. We don’t hesitate to grab a couple as they pass, raising the glasses to our lips and downing them in one quick swallow. The whiskey hits hard, leaving a warm burn that spreads through my chest. As the empty glasses clatter back onto the train, it continues its journey around the pub.

Elliot sinks into a wooden stool at the bar, still grinning. “Traditions really stick, don’t they?”

The bartender, a gleaming robot with the smooth voice of a long-forgotten radio host, replies, “Traditions keep the familiar alive.”

I lean against the bar, my mind drifting back to the girl in the red windbreaker. No matter what I do, I can’t shake her from my thoughts.

“Still thinking about her?” Elliot asks, breaking into my thoughts.

I nod. “There’s something about her. I don’t know what it is, but it feels like I’m drawn to her, like she’s more than just some stranger.”

Elliot laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a romantic. What’s next, a prince saving a princess from a dragon?”

I frown. “It’s not like that. Life’s not a fairy tale. But maybe it’s more than just attraction. Maybe it’s something deeper.”

“Or maybe it’s just your imagination,” Elliot says, leaning back. “Be realistic, Alex. There are more important things than getting caught up in some fantasy about a girl.”

“And what exactly is this reality worth, then?” I shoot back. “What’s the point of chasing knowledge if you lose all the color in your life?”

Elliot shrugs. “You don’t have to spend your whole life studying. But you’ve got to set your priorities. Girls should be in the background while you focus on what’s really important.”

“Why does it have to be one or the other?” I ask. “Why can’t you chase your dreams with someone by your side?”

Elliot smirks. “You haven’t had many girlfriends, have you?”

“Not really. A few. But none of them had that spark. That thing that makes you feel something more.”

“Trust me,” Elliot says, “I’ve been with a lot of girls. And it’s never simple. Some of them demand everything from you, others will stab you in the back. Literally, in my case. One girl actually stabbed me with a fork once.”

We both laugh, pouring another round of whiskey. The burn of the liquor makes everything feel lighter. The pub isn’t crowded, probably because it looks like a relic from the past. But just as we settle into the bar, our fellow students from Turkey walk in, stopping in surprise when they see the little train carrying drinks. Kadriya Elmaz grabs a shot of whiskey without taking her eyes off Elliot. Asil, standing beside her, eyes his shot suspiciously before downing it.

Elliot grins, nudging me. “Here comes the precious diamond, and look, she brought jackAssil with her.”

As the two approach, Asil glances around the pub, his gaze settling on Elliot. “You seem to have found your place.”

Elliot leans back, completely unfazed. “I always do. But as for you, with all your nobility, I’d challenge you to a duel of wits, but I see you’ve come unarmed.”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Kadriya cuts in, her voice smooth and calm. “Why don’t we talk about the lecture instead?”

“It was visually stunning, but it didn’t give us much actual information,” I say.

“What did you expect, Alex?” Elliot replies, sipping his drink. “It was just an introduction. They don’t want to overwhelm us on the first day. That’s why they have a pub here.”

“Maybe,” I agree, “but it would have been nice to hear Chancellor Wolfe’s take on the Great Tragedy of 2030. They kind of glossed over it.”

Asil turns to me, his face serious. “You know what happened, right?”

“Of course,” I say. “But I’d love to see their version of events, especially with those holographic visuals.”

Elliot shrugs, leaning forward on the bar, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass. “You really want to dig into that mess on the first day? I thought we were here to relax, not to get wrapped up in doom and gloom.”

I chuckle. “Maybe, but it’s part of history, right? We can’t move forward without knowing where we came from.”

Asil nods in agreement. “Exactly. The Great Tragedy shaped everything. Ignoring it feels like pretending it never happened.”

Elliot raises his glass in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, you win. We’ll delve into the world’s end, but I hope it can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, let’s focus on something a little less apocalyptic.”

We clink our glasses, the sound crisp in the quiet pub, and drink. The whiskey burns less this time, and the warmth of the moment settles over us. The old pub seems to hum with its own history, layers of time pressed into its wooden beams, the stories of past patrons lingering in the air.

As we continue to talk, the door creaks open again, letting in a gust of cold air. A few more students trickle in, but none of them catch my attention. My mind is still occupied with the girl in the red windbreaker, the mystery of her presence gnawing at me.

Elliot notices my distraction and claps me on the shoulder.

I give him a half-smile. “Yeah. Can’t seem to shake it.”

“Well, you’ll figure it out,” he says, draining the last of his drink. “But for now, let’s enjoy the rest of the night. Plenty of time to chase ghosts tomorrow.”

The warmth of the pub, the easy conversation, and the lingering burn of whiskey keep me grounded, but a part of me is already out the door, searching the streets for that flash of red, wondering when I’ll see her again.