At the end of my sophomore summer, I found myself standing in the backyard of my sorority house under a canopy of twinkle lights and gold streamers. Everything glowed — the grass, the music, the people I loved, all blurred together in this warm, shimmering haze. We were laughing and crying and dancing in circles, hugging each other so tightly it felt like maybe, if we held on long enough, we could keep the night from ending. Later, after everyone drifted home, a few of us climbed out onto the roof, still in our formal dresses, staring out over the edge as we talked into the early hours of the morning. It was dramatic in the most delicious way, an ending that knew it was an ending.
This term’s close looks nothing like that. No fanfare, no gold, no defined moment where everything swells into a goodbye. But inside, I feel the same overwhelming surge of emotion I felt that night on the roof. Something is shifting, even if the world around me hasn’t paused to acknowledge it.
Part of it is that I’m off next term, my first real step away from campus in five straight terms. That’s long enough for Dartmouth to become its own kind of gravity, a rhythm I’ve learned so deeply that I barely notice how much of myself is tied up in its pull. Being here this consistently has made the bubble feel less like a metaphor and more like a lived reality; I move through it without thinking, repeating the same paths, the same habits, the same version of myself. And because of that, I’ve started to lose track of who I am when I’m not operating on a 10-week cycle. Not lost in a dramatic way — just blurred around the edges, softened by routine. I’ve become so good at keeping pace that I haven’t asked myself in a long time what I’d do if I didn’t have to.
Now, with an off-term stretching ahead of me, that question feels louder. And that’s where the emotion comes in. It’s not fear, exactly, but a kind of anticipatory nostalgia. I’m already missing this place while I’m still in it. I’m grieving a moment that hasn’t ended yet.
But underneath that is excitement, a quiet, insistent kind. I’m eager to meet the version of myself that exists outside of this bubble. I want to rediscover who I am when I’m not repeating a script I’ve learned by heart. I’m ready to choose my days rather than inherit them.
This week in Mirror, we spend time with ourselves and with the people we love. One writer explores early holiday celebrations on campus. Another reflects on hesitation as she wraps up her final fall term at Dartmouth.
This ending is less cinematic — no rooftop sunrise, no glittering backdrop — but it feels just as significant. And maybe the soft endings, the ones that happen within you, are the ones that matter most.
Aditi Gupta ’27 is a Mirror editor from Ridgefield, Conn. She is majoring in Biology with minors in Global Health and English. On campus, she spends most of her time working in a cell biology lab. She hopes to pursue a career that integrates her love for scientific research with her broader academic interests in health and literature.
