Dear Semester-Long Friends,

I hope this letter finds you well. Or, more realistically, I hope this letter can reach you in the depths of Canvas, where our friendship apparently started and ended.

I’ve been thinking about us lately. About the three times a week we spent together, the dining hall meals after section, the whispered commentary during lecture, and the unspoken agreement that neither of us would ever complete the reading.

You knew exactly which professor I couldn’t stand, what grade I received on my midterm, and the increasingly concerning state of my sleep schedule. For one whole semester, you were an integral part of my life.
And then the semester ended.

No falling out or dramatic confrontation. Not even an awkward goodbye. Just a final exam, a “We should totally get lunch sometime,” and the quiet understanding that we probably never would.

It’s definitely a strange kind of intimacy, isn’t it?

There are people at Harvard I’ve known for over a year who have never heard me speak as much as you did during a single section at 10:30 a.m. on a Thursday. You knew my thoughts on the American judicial system, the symbolism of a particular passage in Bleak House, and whether I thought our TF was a harsh grader. You watched me experience the five stages of grief over a paper extension in real time. You knew which dining hall I preferred and how I always brought Blank Street and never drank it.

But I don’t know your birthday, and I’m not entirely sure what your concentration is. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you on the weekend.
Still, somewhere between the third problem set and the sixth shared complaint, I started considering you a friend.

We had unspoken rituals, like you saving me a seat in lecture or exchanging notes when we missed class. I genuinely looked forward to seeing you, which is perhaps why it feels bizarre that our friendship apparently had an expiration date listed on campus.

When the next semester started, we were strangers again. Now, when I see you in the Science Center or walking through the Yard, we performatively exchange a “Oh my gosh, hey” or “How are you?.” We interact for approximately 30 seconds before one of us announces that we are running late. Or sometimes, it’s even worse—we’re a little too far to initiate a conversation, and so we settle for a very awkward half-nod or no nod at all.

I wonder if this is just what college friendship looks like sometimes: intense, oddly personal, yet short-lived and non-existent beyond the classroom. And how it’s unspoken yet perfectly okay.

At Harvard, we talk constantly about finding our people. We’re supposed to build lifelong friendships and meet future collaborators, but nobody talks about the friendships that don’t quite make it past the reading period.

So, to the friend I haven’t spoken to since December, I hope you are doing well. I hope your new classes are interesting, and that your TF is generous, and that you have figured out how to get into the courses you want.

And when I inevitably run into you outside Lamont, I promise I’ll do more than ask how your semester is going. Maybe we could actually get lunch, no section required.

Sincerely,

Your Friend from Tuesdays and Thursdays in Sever 110