There are some relationships that don't really have a name. Like the third cousin who's actually more like a sister since your great grandmother raised her mother and you live next door to each other on the Upper West Side. Or the very nice couple whose equally nice daughter has been dating your son for two years. Ours was that kind of relationship.
The reason first love stories are so compelling to read is because there is something so powerful about a young love experience. Is it because it happens when our hearts are still innocent and pure -- before that first inevitable heartbreak? Or is it because once that huge flame dies out, a few warm embers remain to keep the memory aglow?