I have heard many stories about first love, and they always have similar happy endings and strange endings. They are the hysteria of youth and the end of memories. They are the fresh fodder that was swallowed hastily in youth and suddenly regurgitated in the dead of night. Those stories stuck in the throat will eventually have nothing to talk about, but can only be chewed slowly and swallowed alive.
From nowhere to tell, to not mentioning anything at all.