Part 7: Full Circle Doesn't Always Mean Backward
(Approx. 1,200 words — Part 7 of 10)
Somewhere between the third time I hosted the morning show and the moment a stranger stopped me in traffic to say, "Ah! You're Mercy from the radio!" — I realized something I should have realized.
I wasn't the girl who came from nothing anymore.
I was becoming someone very important.
I still wasn't rich. My mattress was thin, my gas always seemed to finish when I needed it most, and NEPA still chose wicked days to strike. But I had a purpose. I had peace. And most importantly — I had myself.
And then, just as I had learned to live without missing him…
Tunde came back.
It was a Sunday afternoon. I was at a café editing notes for an upcoming youth mentorship broadcast. I had my headphones in, my pen in my mouth, and a half-eaten doughnut on the plate beside me.
"Mercy?"
I froze.
Even after months of silence, I knew that voice. Low. Gentle. Like it didn't want to interrupt your world, but always did.
I looked up.
Tunde stood there in jeans, a navy-blue shirt, and a quiet expression I couldn't read and couldn't understand.
He looked… older. Not in a tired way, but in a real way. Like life had finally humbled him into truth.
"Hi," I said, slowly removing my headphones.
He smiled. "You look like success."
I gave a small laugh. "You look like you came here for something."
"I did."
I motioned to the chair across from me.
He sat.
"Why now?" I asked after a long pause.
"I moved to the city last week," he said. "New job. Editing documentaries for a media firm. I didn't even know you lived this close to the station."
I nodded slowly. "And you decided to look for me?"
"I didn't have to. You were on the billboard by the flyover. Mercy Ajayi — Voice of the Streets."
I looked down, smiling despite myself. "That ad still feels unreal."
"It's not," he said. "You made it real."
Another pause.
"You look happy," he added, softly.
"ofcourse I am."
"I'm glad."
Then silence again.
He didn't rush to apologize. He didn't beg. He didn't try to explain the past. He just sat there like a man who knew the damage and had stopped trying to deny it.
"I hurt you," he said finally.
I looked at him.
"Yes. You did."
"I told myself I was lonely, that distance made it hard. But the truth is, I didn't know how to love you without needing to control the story."
That caught me off guard.
"What do you mean?"
"I loved you so much, I panicked when I couldn't keep up with your shine. So I reached for someone… easier."
I sat back, stunned by the honesty.
"I'm not proud of that. But I want you to know I see it now. And I see you — clearer than I ever have."
A long breath passed between us.
"Thank you for saying that," I said.
"Would it be crazy if I asked for a second chance?" he asked gently. "Not to pick up from where we left off, but to earn a place in your life again. However small."
I stared at my cup of tea.
The younger me would've said yes instantly. The girl who ached for love like it was oxygen.
But I wasn't her anymore.The new me has changed a long time ago.
I met his eyes. "You don't need to be in my life to prove you've changed. Growth is its own reward."
"I know," he said. "But being around you helped me become this version of me. And I'd like to know the version of you I missed."
I smiled. "You're talking like a man who read The Four Agreements and now sees the world with sage oil."
He laughed. "Maybe I did."
We sat in companionable silence for a while.
Then I stood. "I have to go. Show starts in an hour."
He nodded, rising with me. "Can I call you sometime?"
"You can try," I said, grinning. "No promises."
"Fair enough."
We walked out together. At the sidewalk, he hesitated.
"I never stopped loving you," he said.
I looked at him, steady. "But I stopped needing you. And that saved me."
He nodded slowly. "Then I'm grateful you saved yourself."
And just like that, we went our separate ways.
That night, I stood behind the mic, the red light blinking above me.
"You're listening to Mercy — your voice of the streets. And tonight, we're talking about healing — how sometimes, walking away is how you come home to yourself."
My voice didn't shake. My hands didn't tremble.
I was no longer the girl waiting for someone to make her feel enough.
I was enough.
Always had been.