Something is wrong with time.

Yesterday, I swear it was Thursday. My phone said Friday. But my body said Tuesday, like it skipped a beat and forgot how to breathe. I found an old voicemail from Dorian that I didn’t remember hearing—except I responded to it. I even referenced it in a text. But I have no memory of listening to it.

I blacked out for seven minutes during a call today. Just blacked out. When I played back the recording, I was humming. Softly. Like a lullaby. The same one my grandmother used to sing, only she died before I was born.

I found something under my bed. A folded piece of paper that I didn’t write.
It just said:
“ANIMA.”

What’s “Anima”?

Why does it feel like I already know?