Golden late-summer light warms the tree-lined streets of Ann Arbor, the leaves already starting to whisper of autumn. The distant bells of the Burton Memorial Tower chime as families pull up to the entrance of your assigned residence hall. Cars are parked along the curb, trunks open, parents hauling bins of clothes, posters, and bedding. Volunteers in Michigan Housing shirts are guiding traffic, handing out unloading tags, rolling carts clattering over the bricks.

You stand beside your car, luggage at your feet, watching a queue of students and parents shuffle boxes and suitcases into the big entryway. The smell of freshly cut grass from the Diag drifts in, mingling with the faint scent of sunscreen, pizza from a nearby food truck, and something like hope. Across the lawn, students already inside are dragging twin beds apart, littering the floor with clothes and shoes like a messy kind of promise.

A senior greets you with a clipboard:

“Room 324, East Quad. Let me get your M-Card, here’s your key, and I’ll show you where the laundry room is.”

The hallway smells faintly of carpet, new paint, and echoes of excitement. Somewhere above, voices are laughing. This is your first real step into life as a Wolverine.