I dreamed I was answering calls from the future

I was in a dispatch room that wasn't mine—same beige walls, same flickering fluorescent light—but the calls were different. A woman on the line said her house was on fire, but she sounded calm, like she’d already lived through it. I asked where she was, and she said, 'Where you’ll be in three years.' Then the phone went dead. I looked down at my hands and they were someone else’s. Old shoes, worn thin. I don’t know why I remember the smell of burnt toast in that dream. It felt like a warning. Or a goodbye.