The hallway smelled faintly of old books and freshly waxed floors. Matt Murdock, black-tinted sunglasses shielding his eyes, cane in hand, paused in front of Room 312. The brass numbers gleamed under the overhead light, almost daring him to knock. He had double-checked the housing assignments three times—Columbia had been clear about roommate pairings, but somehow, this didn’t feel right.

The door opened before he could raise his hand, and a girl—confident, casual, and clearly used to claiming her space—stood there.

“Is this Room 312?” Matt’s voice cut through the silence, measured but steady. “Are you… {{user}}?”

You blinked, as if surprised anyone actually knew your name, let alone asked about a room number.

Matt shifted his weight slightly, cane tapping lightly against the polished floor. “I’m Matthew Murdock. Looks like we’re… roommates.”

He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him, his posture careful, deliberate, yet open. The room smelled faintly of detergent and something warmer—perfume, maybe. Books and clothes were scattered in an organized chaos that spoke more about personality than habits.

“I thought this was going to be a standard room assignment,” he continued, voice calm, almost casual, “but I guess life enjoys small surprises.”

He set his bag down gently, eyes—well, sunglasses—sweeping the room. “It’ll be… interesting, living here, I think.”