He doesn’t understand.
He’s never heard of Amorea.
You don’t actually know that, a little voice whispers.
Which—okay. Yes. That’s true. For all he knows, he lives in Amorea. For all he knows, he has a life here where people know his name, people who love him, people who will say, “There you are, we’ve been looking for you, we were so worried, but now we’ve found you. This is your name. This is who you are. This is your life. Welcome. Welcome home.”
Maybe his happiness does live there. In Amorea.
(And underneath all of this, underneath the burgeoning hope, the sharp sense of relief, there is something else, something more, and it’s saying, Are you sure? Are you sure this is where you’re supposed to be, because something doesn’t quite fit, and why can’t you remember, and who are you, who are you, who are you? but every step he takes past the sign, that voice trails off quietly until it’s like it wasn’t there at all.)
The little road changes. There’s a hill ahead. It’s not steep, but it’s big enough that he can’t quite see over it, can’t see what’s on the other side. He knows it’ll be Amorea, and in his mind, he’s already imagining what it looks like, and he thinks it’ll feel like home the moment he sees it and maybe something will click. Something will click and it’ll all come back to him. He’ll see people he knows and they’ll laugh about it later on. He’s tired, and he just wants to go home and lie in his bed, and how nice would that feel right now? He’ll take a shower first, because he’s sticky with sweat, but then he’ll curl up under the blankets, and it’ll be nice. Everything is going to be just fine.
And if it isn’t, well. He doesn’t want to think about that part.
But.
If it isn’t fine, someone in Amorea will know what to do.
II
HE TRIES to temper his expectations as he nears the top of the hill. For all he knows, Amorea could be miles away. Or empty. Or it could be burnt to the ground. He’s trying not the think of the fact that, aside from seeing the horse and hearing the birds, he hasn’t yet seen another sign of life on the road. No cars out for a leisurely drive. No people out for a walk on a beautiful summer morning. Aside from the sign, there’s been no evidence of anyone else at all.
But that’s silly, he tells himself. There have to be others.
He pauses right before he crests the hill, steeling himself.
Because what if?
He learns he’s not a fan of the what if.
At this rate, he’ll know everything there is to know about himself by nightfall.
He tells himself to just do it, just take those last steps.
He almost doesn’t.
He almost turns around, because what if?
But he can’t. Not when he’s this close.
He takes the final steps to the top of the hill.
And there, on the other side, is Amorea.
He can see it amongst the trees, nestled in the foothills of a small mountain range that rises in the background, the peaks dusted with snow, and it’s summer, he knows it’s summer, and everything is so green and alive, but the snow is there, perfectly capping the tips in white.
The town itself is made up of buildings that stretch along a main thoroughfare. He’s still too far away to make them out individually, but he can see the awnings that are fitted over doorways, the small, ornate streetlamps that line the sidewalk on either side of the road and that he knows, he just knows will have garlands and wreaths hanging from them come Christmas. There’s a strange shiver of hope that crawls through him, wanting to see that happen, wanting this place to be where he’s from.
Farther into the trees outside of the main street are houses nestled into small neighborhoods, and for a moment, he thinks how odd it is that he can’t see any cars, that no one is driving, but it’s gone when he looks closer and sees people walking on the sidewalks. In and out of the shops under the awnings. In the neighborhoods.
He starts down the other side of the hill.
IT HAPPENS the moment before he crosses into Amorea.
He can see the town now, can hear the people. He can read the signs above the awnings, the striped awnings that are green and blue and white and red. The signs say things like Happy’s General Store and Valley Food and Drug and Bookworm. There’s a movie theater with a marquee that’s lit up, even in the daytime, and an old-fashioned diner with a neon sign that reads simply that: Diner.
He thinks idyllic and charming, and wants nothing more than to be in this place. It’s like a hook has buried itself far into his brain and is pulling him toward Amorea, pulling him along and he can do nothing but follow it.