Body. And soul. That’s what Mr. Darcy tells Elizabeth Bennet in Pride & Prejudice. I’m currently huddled under a blanket next to Neda watching the Keira Knightley version of the movie, and I’m sobbing. I don’t know if it’s Matthew Macfadyen’s flawless performance, or if I really needed the emotional release in the middle of a global crisis, or if my tears are just a reaction to my parents telling me I have to start from scratch on my college essay. Whatever it is, I glance at Neda and notice the corner of her lip twitch, which is as close as she’ll ever get to crying.

“Why didn’t you warn me this movie was so good?” she asks.

“I didn’t want you to have any expectations going in.”

My sister and I have formed a new habit of staying up late together, and it feels like we’re living in some bizarro reality. A parallel universe where we do sisterly things like rip up old pillowcases and teach ourselves how to sew masks out of them (which are now mandated in Santa Clara County. Our homemade versions are so much cuter than the N95s our parents stocked up on). Our bonding sessions blossomed mostly out of boredom but also from Neda’s impulsive decision to be in a book club with Gideon. A few days ago, after yet another FaceTiming session with him that I eavesdropped on, she knocked on my door and asked if I would recount the plot of Pride and Prejudice.

“I can’t even get past the first page,” she confessed.

This was no surprise to me. Period pieces aren’t really Neda’s cup of tea. Neither is sexual tension depicted in the form of stolen glances and handwritten letters. After days of underlining passages for her and helping her keep track of all the Bennets, I finally gave up and told her we should just watch the movie instead. And now I can’t wait to watch Sense & Sensibility together. Even though she’s the older sibling, I’m pretty sure I’m the Elinor and she’s the Marianne, but sometimes I wish I could be the one with a little less sense and a little more sensibility. Life would be so much easier that way.

As the movie ends and the credits roll, Neda switches off the TV and turns to me intently. I’m still getting used to all the voluntary eye contact. It’s strange how a virus can keep you away from some people and draw you closer to others. I’m not sure why, but I haven’t really told Gabs about all the quality time I’ve been spending with Neda. Not that it needs to be a secret. She is, after all, my sister, and we are quarantined in the same house.

“I know what you should write your college essay about,” Neda announces.