You follow Ada like a shadow, hot on her heels — literally. She’s one of the few within the faculty that can brave through four inch pumps on a daily basis, walking to and fro halls and all the floors in this building. Sometimes you even catch Ada walking around campus, never do you go without secretly gawking at her on each occasion.

To you, your professor is the most impressive woman on earth. You’d use the word “cool”, but even you’re worried a word like that is far too juvenile to be used to describe a woman as polished as your Ada Wong. You can say that — you can say she’s yours. It wouldn’t be wrong since she is your professor. Tomato tom-ah-to kind of thing.

“They never polish these floors as well as they used to ten years back.” Ada proclaims calmly, never an ounce of hesitation whenever she speaks. So well-spoken, in your opinion. You listen to each lecture of hers with the diligence of a guard dog.

Ada continues on, going on a flat-voiced tangent regarding the university’s somewhat-secret funneling of student tuition and donation funds towards more selfish purchases for the committee board rather than towards implementing improvements to campus maintenance.

Even with your shoulder aching after carrying your bag that’s stuffed to the brim with student papers that Ada’s due to grade tonight, you’re as chipper as you were this morning. You’re so sure you could listen to her gossip about the school’s internal affairs for centuries to come.