By late afternoon, when the sun dips low and cold wind is blowing through campus, the Bergami Center for Science, Technology and Innovation stops feeling like a school building and starts to feel like a warm living room.
And not the quiet kind.
At every sight, at most given times, there is a story playing out and lives being lived, all different and intertwined only by a shared space.
Where someone is microwaving leftovers, someone else is laughing too loudly and three different conversations blur together like background music. But there’s a balance in the shared space between the loud and the quiet.
A robotics kit is spread across one table, flashcards across another. A student naps with a backpack for a pillow. Someone FaceTimes their mom. Someone argues about a group project. Someone else just stares out the window, decompressing after class.
No one looks out of place, that’s the magic of it.
Tucked beside Buckman Hall, the Bergami Center is a 40,000-square foot academic facility. It opened in 2020 as part of the university’s $100 million Charger Challenge campaign, built to encourage innovation across disciplines. Inside are makerspaces, science labs, communications studios and smart classrooms designed for collaboration.
But that description feels too official, too formal, too stiff. Students don’t talk about it like that. They talk about it as if it is their home base.
“I like how there’s a lot of study room, great place to sit somewhere big and connected to campus,” said Jonothan Dejesus, a freshman finance major.
Even brand-new students are drawn to the building. Nate Burleson, a transfer student said, “I’m fascinated by how everything is open, I like seeing the robotics through the windows and just walking through and by the building in general.”
Sociologists call places like this “third spaces,” environments that aren’t home and aren’t working or class, but something softer in between. According to an essay in Inside Higher Ed, these spaces quietly shape student success by building belonging and connection, not just productivity. They are where friendships start accidentally and ideas form without pressure.
Watching the atrium for ten minutes, that’s hard to argue. You instantly see the comfort and comradery of the campus living in one building.
A group from a club sketches startup ideas on a whiteboard wall. Someone passing by offers a suggestion without being asked. Two students quiz each other over terms between sips of iced coffee. At the café counter, a professor chats with a student about internships as if they’re old friends.
It feels less like scheduled networking and more like life just happening.
The design seems intentional. The building connects directly to engineering spaces, but its open sightlines and long communal tables practically dare strangers to sit together. There are no harsh barriers between studying and socializing. You can work, talk, snack and brainstorm all at once.
The university’s promotional video for the center highlights that same goal, calling third places a space where students from different majors can test ideas side by side, supported by faculty and mentors. The result feels less like separate departments and more like one big, messy, creative studio.
A recent article in The Northern Review argues that these informal gathering places often shape college life more than lecture halls do. Dorms are private and classrooms are structured. Third spaces are flexible, unpredictable and human.
In other words, they’re where people actually become themselves. By evening, the Bergami Center changes character again.
The sunlight is fading. The café smell gives way to dry-erase markers and instant noodles. The noise softens into a steady hum of keyboards and quiet conversations. It feels almost nautical, like everyone is rowing through assignments together.
You start recognizing regulars. The pre-med student in the corner who color codes everything. The e-sports team that never seems to leave. The girl with the neon pink water bottle who studies with noise-canceling headphones every night.
There’s comfort in that familiarity. No one officially calls it a “hidden gem,” but ask around and nearly everyone has a story that starts the same way.
“I was just at Bergami when…”
When they found a new club.
When they met their lab partner.
When they figured out their major.
When a random conversation turned into an internship lead.
The building wasn’t designed to be glamorous or Instagram famous. It wasn’t meant to impress from the outside. Instead, it quietly does something more important. It gives students somewhere to land.
Not home.
Not a class.
Something better in between.
