Short Story: A Stolen Identity

It was the formlessness in her eyes that endeared her to Ikem. The tedious flight from London to Lagos had not taken a toll on her elegant frame. The complexity of her attire was a bait that attracted any one around her. This was what caught Ikem's fancy. He had beenaway from Nigeria for ten years, but even a decade in an alien country had not infiltrated his sense of morals. He gazed at the girl again, to be sure it wasn'ta toy that sat next to him in the plane. But, she was human. Her face exudes a beauty that had been raped; raped by the quest to make it better. Ikem mustered the courage and began the conversation. 'Hi', he said in a voice that wasn't sure of itself. In response, she raised a part of hereye brow, adjusted her dress andblinked her eye lid swiftly. After much hesistation, 'Hello' formed in her mouth. 'I am Ikem Ezeji'. He said. She smiled, as if there was something hilarious about his name. 'Well, I am Paula Dixon, my parents are from Nigerian, but I consider myself a British...afterall I have lived in Britain for four years', she concluded. A sudden silence beclouded Ikem's thought. He took a hard look at Paula. 'Four years and you are now a Briton'. he whisper to himself in sheer wonder. As they arrived at the Muritala Muhammed International Airport, Ikem waved her farewell as he left with his hoovering thoughts.