What if the person who makes you whole is also the one who tears you apart?
A young man once believed that love could survive anything. But twenty days after his world quietly collapses, he boards a flight home carrying only the fragments of the life he built with the woman who made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had. As clouds drift beneath him, memories rise like ghosts, and he begins to understand that love can unravel a life just as powerfully as it once held it together.
Told with haunting lyricism and cinematic intimacy, How the Heart Remembers traces the afterglow of a love that shaped nearly three years of two intertwined lives. Moving between past and present, his voice becomes a confession of what it means to love deeply, lose quietly, and learn to live with the echoes that never fade.
For anyone who has ever loved, lost, and still remembers.
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Mishael Kamei
Mishael Kamei is a Rongmei writer from Manipur, India, whose work explores the delicate spaces between love and loss, between silence and remembrance. His writing is deeply introspective, often shaped by personal memory, emotional honesty, and a search for meaning in the aftermath of a heartbreak.
How the Heart Remembers, his debut novel, is a meditation on the ways we carry people long after they’re gone—in fragments of sound, in fragrances, and places that once held their presence. It is a lyrical reflection on time, distance, and the fragile endurance of love. Through this work, Mishael opens an intimate window into the emotional landscapes of memory, inviting readers to feel rather than simply read.
His prose is known for its sensitivity and introspective depth, often blurring the line between lived experience and fiction. Every page reflects his belief that storytelling is an act of preservation—a way of holding on to what life quietly takes away.
Through his writing, he reflects on how the human heart endures changes—how it breaks, remembers, and learns to heal. His work captures moments of stillness, longing, and quiet revelation, reminding the readers that the most profound transformations often unfold in silence.
When not writing, he often seeks solace in nature—in the quiet rain, the fading light over distant hills, and the sound of wind moving through trees. He finds inspiration in solitude, in long walks beneath overcast skies, and in the lingering ache of nostalgia that comes with remembering what time has taken away. For him, writing is not merely a craft but a way of listening—a way of tracing the echoes of what the heart still keeps long after the world has moved on.
