青いキモノの女

In the small, winding streets of Kyoto, where cherry blossoms danced delicately in the spring breeze, a woman named Aiko prepared for the festival that celebrated the onset of the sakura season. At twenty-five, Aiko had a spirit as vibrant as the blooms that adorned the trees, yet she often felt like a ghost wandering through her own life, lost in a world that moved too quickly for her heart to keep pace.

She spent her days working in a quaint tea shop, where she served matcha and sweet mochi to tourists and locals alike. The shop was a mosaic of warm wooden beams and soft, glowing lanterns, fragrant with the earthy aroma of tea leaves. Yet, amid the laughter and chatter, Aiko felt a longing deep within her—a yearning for something she couldn’t quite name.

As the festival approached, her grandmother gifted her an exquisite kimono, a rich azure blue that shimmered like the afternoon sky. “This has been in our family for generations,” her