In this excerpt from Miriam Toews' "All My Puny Sorrows," a character fondly requests to hear a part of a newly written piece. The narrator declines to share even a single word or phrase, instead offering only to read the first letter of the novel. The other character eagerly prepares herself, seemingly excited for a moment of connection or admiration, and the narrator begins to read aloud, creating a tender and meaningful exchange.

You've finally written it? That's great! She asked me if I'd read to her from it and I said no. Just a paragraph? No. A sentence? No. Half a sentence! One word? No. A letter? I said okay, that I would read the first letter of the novel. She smiled and closed her eyes and sort of burrowed into her bed like she was preparing herself for a delicious treat. I asked her if she was ready and she nodded, still smiling, eyes closed. I stood and cleared my throat and paused and then began to read. She sighed and lifted her chin to the ceiling, opened her eyes and told me it was beautiful, BEAUTIFUL, and true, the best thing I'd written yet.