Chioma sleeps like someone that is chasing something in her dreams.
Nobody knows what it is. Not even Chioma.
All they know is that every morning, there is evidence.
Her pillow is always at one end of the bed.
Her bonnet? Missing in action.
Her hair? Doing whatever it likes.
One morning, her younger sister looked at her and said,
“Did you people fight again last night?”
“Who is you people?” Chioma snapped.
“You and your pillow.”
Chioma ignored her. Because what kind of nonsense is that?
But later, she stood in front of the mirror and paused.
Her hairline looked like it had gone through something emotional.
Her skin looked tired. Not “I didn’t sleep enough” tired. More like “I slept… but something happened.”
That evening, she complained to her friend on a call.
“I don’t understand. I’m doing everything right. Products, routine, bonnet…”
Her friend laughed. “It’s your pillowcase.”
Chioma rolled her eyes, but she changed it anyway. Just to prove a point.
The next morning…
No scattered pillow.
No dramatic hair situation.
No confusion.
She just woke up… normal.
She sat on her bed for a few seconds.
“Wait… so all this time, I’ve been fighting my pillow for no reason?”
Now, Chioma still moves around in her sleep. That hasn’t changed.
But at least, she’s no longer waking up like she lost a battle she didn’t remember starting.