The first time he saw her, she was only ten years old. She seemed to be showing off and holding her parents' hands as she passed by him. He was jealous.
The first time I met him, he was fifteen years old. He held her and cried like a tearful person, repeatedly saying the three words she least wanted to hear.
The last time I saw her, she was twelve years old, left behind like him, but she was as dull as his doll that was still in the storage room, letting anyone control her. But he was not happy at all.
The last time I saw him, he was seventeen years old, and he went to a foreign country in embarrassment with regret. It was she who forced him to leave, even being stingy about saying goodbye to him. But she was not relieved at all.