Senior year had a different weight than the years before it.
Not heavier exactly. More deliberate. The specific quality of a year that knows it is the last one and carries that knowledge without drama — just a heightened attention to what is happening inside it.
The campus felt familiar in the complete way now. Not the learned familiarity of freshman year or the comfortable familiarity of sophomore year. The earned familiarity of someone who had been here long enough to know which tables had the best light and which paths were fastest in the rain and which professors meant what they said.
Prisca and I walked to the first day of classes together.
No discussion required. Just — together, the way things were now.
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Our schedules had less overlap than junior year.
No shared class this
