The Old Profile Photo

Leopold arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early and chose a table near the window. He had been looking forward to this date all week. Esra's profile photo showed a woman with long dark hair, a red coat and a huge smile. According to her profile, she loved hiking and bad jokes. He had read it three times.

At exactly seven o'clock, a woman with short, grey-streaked hair and glasses stopped beside his table. "Leopold?" she asked. "Hi. I'm Esra."

He stood up too quickly and knocked over his water. For a second he could only stare. The woman in the photo had looked about thirty, and this woman was clearly past forty. Leopold felt a hot, annoyed feeling rise in his chest. Why hadn't she told him? If she had been honest, he would have understood.

They sat down. The conversation was polite but stiff. He kept comparing her face with the picture in his head, and she noticed. After the soup arrived, she put down her spoon.

"Let me guess," Esra said calmly. "The photo is a bit old."

"A bit?" Leopold began, and then he stopped. His own profile photo had been taken at his cousin's wedding, eleven years ago. In it, he had thick brown hair and no glasses. Tonight he was wearing a hat to hide his bald patch.

"Ten years, I think," she said. "I never found a better one. I hate being photographed."

Leopold slowly took off his hat. "Mine is eleven years old," he said. "I should have told you first."

Esra looked at his head, and then she started to laugh, and so did he. They laughed until the waiter came to ask whether everything was all right.

"Everything is great," Esra said. "We are just two very old pictures having dinner."

After dessert, they asked the waiter to take a photo of them together. The hat sat on a chair beside the table. It was not a perfect picture, but it was true. "Send it to me," Leopold said, "and tell me more about the hiking."

Esra was already typing his number into her phone.