The Fit

It was 11:50 at night when the song began.

The title on the player said Snehithane. I knew it was Tamil, though I did not understand the language. The singer's voice rose slowly and then settled again, as if it were calling someone by a name that had been waiting a long time to be spoken.

I did not know what the lyrics meant. Still, something in the music carried a feeling that did not require translation. By the time the first refrain returned, my eyes were wet without my quite knowing why.

I opened Instagram on my Mac.

Not the phone. The web version that most people forget exists. I typed her name almost without thinking. Her profile appeared immediately. I was still following her, which meant I could still see everything she had posted.

She did not post much anymore.

The newest photograph was already months old.

I opened the most recent picture.

For a moment I simply looked at it. Then I zoomed in.

Just a little at first.

Then a little more.

The photograph expanded slowly across the screen. Her face moved closer until the background disappeared and the frame filled almost entirely with her expression. I zoomed again, and again, until the image reached the edges of the display.

It fit perfectly.

The pixels stretched slightly under the magnification. If I looked closely enough I could see the image beginning to break apart, each square of color separating from the next.

But from a small distance it still looked whole.

For a second I noticed how strangely satisfying the fit was. The screen contained her face exactly, without any empty margins.

The way I had always imagined she would fit into my life.

The song reached its final refrain. The singer's voice lifted higher, carrying a tenderness meant for someone who existed somewhere beyond the recording.

I took a screenshot.

The click was small, barely audible. But my hands were shaking.

Before I could reconsider it, I opened the screenshot and set it as my desktop wallpaper.

The screen went dark for a second while the system applied the change. Then the desktop appeared again, and her face filled the entire display.

The music faded slowly and the room returned to silence.

I sat there for a while, looking at the screen. The light from the monitor was the only thing illuminating the room, and it gave the photograph a strange softness.

She was still smiling in the picture, unaware of the quiet room, unaware of the late hour, unaware of the small decision that had just taken place.

The song has long since ended.

But in my head, it is still playing.

And somewhere inside that moment, it is still 11:50 at night.