Don't Fade Away (Past Lovers)

A 427-Year-Old Kimono 「427歳の着物」

This is still a fairly experimental story, mostly because I very much like writing it.
If you've never seen the following clothing before, Google it.
Hanbok: A traditional Korean clothing item, usually bright in colour with simple lines and no pockets. Objects often tucked in sleeves.
Kimono: Japanese clothing. T-shaped and ankle-length, with long, wide sleeves that can drape to nearly the floor on a furisode kimono.
Hanfu: traditional Chonese dress, most often referring to the clothing of the Qing era. Characterized by long, draping sleeves on women and brighter colours and more elaborate designs depending on the wealth and social status of the wearer.
Yukata: made with straight seams and wide sleeves like a kimono, but are lighter and used as summer wear nowadays. Japanese as well.

It was old, she knew that much. And Asian. Chinese or Japanese, obviously, because Korean hanbok were pretty weird-looking, while Japanese kimono were slightly odd and Chinese hanfu less so. This was most likely a yukata.

Since she was in Japan and all.

It was of a light fabric, soft and slightly decorated and she found herself itching to try it on despite the fact that she wasn't Asian. Farrah eyed it suspiciously, as she did with most old things. Her father had always told her that the older something was, the more power it had, and she believed him. An item was infused with the emotions and power of the people who had owned it, touched it.

It was why she was uncomfortable in an antique shop, especially around the objects of women. Women endured much pain in the past, often more so than any current woman could imagine, and so their items were more powerful due the negative or indifferent emotions.

"You should buy it, miss." a soft, pretty voice encouraged in perfect English from behind her. "It was made for you, after all." She turned, narrowing her eyes a little at the person who suggested such a stupid thing. Not only was it at least two hundred years old-maybe more-but the price tag was well over ten million yen. She barely had a thousand, and that had to last her for the rest of her trip.

She would be in Japan for another two weeks, and with the rate she was finding interesting things at, it wouldn't last very long. At least she had her tickets, and her mother could send her more money through the family account if she really needed it. It had taken Farrah nearly four months to convince her parents to allow her to go on this trip, and she hadn't been disappointed so far.

Prepared to refuse the woman-probably old-who ran the shop, she turned around and was prepared to bow apologetically. Instead, she ended up gawping. The girl was Asian in every essence of the word, except for her eyes, with double lids any mono-lidded Asian girl would kill for, irises blue as the sky, her black lashes long and thick, eyes large and the same shape as Farrah's own. She was Farrah's height, with a curvy body less like the usual lean Asian figure.

Farrah shut her gawping mouth quickly, as soon as she realized it was open. "Are you... A half?" The girl bowed, the shook her head politely.

"My ancestor was a foreign woman. I inherited her eyes, miss." When the girl smiled, her eyes narrowed happily and little crinkles creased the corner of her eyes. And, oddly enough, she had dimples, her smile bright and wide.

"I'm Farrah," she said, bowing a little and feeling awkward. The girl's own bow was much more refined, and Farrah's face and ears burned in embarrassment.

"I am called Yagyu Aoi."

"Yagyu? I thought all samurai lines were destroyed before World War One?" Aoi smiled.

"It was only recently that we were able to regain our true family name. Between 1850 and the end of World War Two, our family name was Shou. Written with a different character as the second one of our true name, but the same pronunciation should the former character stand alone, even though the meaning is not the same."

Farrah nodded like she understood, but in reality, she only knew the characters for the numbers one to ten and the two characters for love. It was more than most people knew, but it was pretty useless because you rarely saw the characters for love as all numbers were English, except in old books, which she never read because she knew all of twelve characters.

"So you are of samurai blood?" She nodded.

"We were an offshoot of the main Yagyu branch, which is why it was easier to survive. We were not well-known, though we had produced some powerful and intelligent warriors, so changing our name and moving to another daimyo's holdings was not difficult."

"I see."

"Which is how I know that it was made for you." The suspicion rose in Farrah again. She must have been lying to get her to buy the dress. It was beautiful, and soft brushes against it with her fingertips confirmed that it was indeed as soft as it looked.

"It's got to be over two hundred years old, from the design. I'm not even sixteen yet."

"It has been in my family since fifteen-eighty-eight."

"Then it definitely wasn't made for me." The girl-Aoi-laughed, tossing her head back. The force of her laughter made Farrah's mouth quirk involuntarily.

"Oh, it was. See? Check the sleeve." The blonde did so, feeling very much like a foolish tourist tricked into some scam or another. She lifted the sleeve and slipped her hand inside, opening it carefully. What she found made her draw back like she'd been bitten by a mamushi snake.

It was her name, written in English letters in slightly faded thread. It was written in cursive with an elaborate technique she'd only just mastered a year ago, but these weren't her stitching patterns. It was delicate and obviously done with care. The stitches were, additionally, masculine. "I only priced it that high so nobody would buy it," Aoi said softly. "Please. I would not feel right if you did not have it. As it is rightfully yours, I would not dare ask for money for something that is not mine."

She disappeared behind a counter, then reappeared carrying a box. "It is the last kimono ever dyed in the tsujigahana way, in the Muromachi period."

"I can't take this." Farrah insisted. "You don't even know what kind of person I am. How could you trust me with something so obviously priceless?" Aoi smiled again, her lips parting and turning up at the edges.

"Had you been a bad person, you would have taken it without a second thought." Aoi protested. She slowly slipped the kimono off of the display, quickly and efficiently folding it and placing it in the box. She put the box under her arm and went back to the counter, disappearing behind it for a minute and returning to a stunned speechless Farrah.

In smooth motion, the yukata-clad girl knelt, placed the box in front of the blonde and kowtowed gracefully. "Please, take it." Feeling too guilty and self-conscious to protest, she picked up the box, bowed deeply to Aoi and walked out if the shop feeling like a thief. Contrary to her suspicions, Aoi Yagyu didn't yell "thief!" and no police cars pulled up when she left.

Suddenly feeling very protective of the priceless treasure in her arms, Farrah hugged it tight to her chest and speed-walked to her hostel.