In our house, quiet evenings often end with the television being taken over by the 1995 BBC adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice.” To call it a “family favorite” is like saying that Teller County only gets a “bit of snow.”

Whenever we try to choose something to watch, suggestions are thrown out and shot down until someone brings up Pride and Prejudice. The boys object. They always object. But the vote usually ends six to three.

My mom, sisters, and I settle in, ready to examine each carefully delivered insult, every moment between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. We know what’s coming, but we still watch like something new might be revealed. We quote the lines. We whisper judgments. We wait for the realization to hit them.

My younger brother once asked if we’d ever finished Pride and Prejudice, as though it were a hundred episodes long. When we told him there were only six, he was very surprised.

To them there’s no plot. No villain to defeat. The most action they get is a poorly received marriage proposal or a dinner party. They sit through it, baffled that anyone could choose this over anything with a helicopter.

And yet, we keep watching.

The divide isn’t just about taste. It’s about what different people value in a story. The boys want conflict and spectacle. The girls want character, motive, and resolution. To my brothers, “Pride and Prejudice” is six hours of social awkwardness. To us, it’s a masterclass in knowing your own worth, learning to see clearly and choosing integrity over appearance.

That difference used to bother me. But now I think the real story is what happens in the room while it’s playing. My brothers sit there (even if they don’t want to) because we’re sitting there. They roll their eyes, but they stay. They don’t understand why we care, but they know we care. And maybe, quietly, they start to listen.

Because that’s what the story is really about. Not just women getting married, but people learning how to live with one another. How to bridge the space between confusion and understanding and how to endure what you don’t love, because someone you love does.

So while we may never convert the boys to Austen, we don’t have to. It’s enough that we’re all in the same room, watching each other’s stories unfold.

Ruth Wiseman is a Woodland Park native and a dual-enrolled high school student attending Pikes Peak State College.