The computer that works with you.

Ada is a new operating system for your PC, with help built into every part of it. Say what you need, and watch it get done in your own apps, with you in charge of every step.

Made for PCs, and installs alongside Windows. We’ll email you when it’s your turn.

Search, your apps, help with a typo, every window on one wall, and circle to ask. Recorded on Ada.

The film

Meet Jake.

Ten contracts, a billing run and a promise to be home for dinner. A day with Ada, in two and a half minutes.

A still from the film: Jake and Nora on the sofa in the evening, made of paper, his laptop on his knees.

A day with Ada

Less of the busywork. More of the day.

Jake’s day from the film, captured on Ada itself. No mock-ups: every screen here is the real desktop and its real apps.

Paper Jake eats toast at the kitchen table, his laptop showing the time.

The day, laid out.

Before the first coffee, a short note: the ten o’clock call, Friday’s billing run, and rain from six. Take a jacket. Jake asked for it once; now it’s there every morning.

Ada’s desktop in the morning: a calendar, a widget saying a jacket is needed today, and a note. Ada’s morning briefing: Morning, Jake. 10:00 Halvorsen call (the lease renewal). Friday billing run. Rain from 6 pm, 11°: take a jacket.
Paper Jake at his desk beside a toppling pile of contracts.

Ten contracts. One question.

“Which of these has a non-compete longer than a year?” Ada reads all ten and answers with the clause and the page. The other eight are fine.

Files open on ten contracts, with Ada’s answer at the top of the screen. Ada’s answer: two of the ten do. Halvorsen Lease Agreement, 18 months after the lease ends (page 1, section 4). Brightline Services MSA, 24 months, any client served (page 1, section 4). The other eight are 12 months or less.
Paper Jake talks to his laptop, mid-sentence.

Just say it.

“Flag every client we haven’t billed since August.” Then, without leaving the spreadsheet: “Tell Nora I’ll be home by seven, and I’m bringing dumplings.” Sent from his phone, in his words.

A billing spreadsheet with overdue clients highlighted in yellow, and Ada’s conversation at the top of the screen. Ada’s card: flagged 35 clients not billed since August, in yellow. Then: sent to Nora from your iPhone, Home by seven, and I’m bringing dumplings.
Paper Jake on the bus home, rain on the window.

Hand off the rest.

Sort 214 scanned pages. Draft the call summary. Fill in the intake form in an old Windows app. Book Thursday’s room. Ada works through the list while Jake is out, and waits for his OK on anything that matters.

Ada’s board of jobs: four tasks working, nothing waiting on Jake. Working, four jobs: sort the 214 scanned pages in Downloads into the case folder; draft a summary for Halvorsen from today’s call; fill in the Pellham intake form in CaseBase; book a room for Thursday at 2 with the Brightline team.
Paper Jake and Nora in a Lisbon street, a yellow tram behind them.

Then, the good part.

“Make a little film from our Lisbon photos, for Nora.” Ada makes the first cut. Jake makes it his.

Ada Studio editing a short video called Lisbon, for Nora, with its timeline below.
Paper Jake and Nora laughing over dumplings at home.
A lot on his plate. The good kind.

While you work

She works in the background. Your computer stays yours.

Give Ada a job that takes clicks in real apps. The windows she works in can sit on a desktop of her own, so your mouse, keyboard and screen stay with you.

Your desktop. You carry on in Notes.

Ada’s desktop, out of view. She works in Files and the browser.

An illustration made from real Ada windows: on your desktop you write in Notes, while Ada works in Files and the browser on a desktop of her own, out of view.
  • A desktop of her own.

    The windows she works in can sit out of view, and they never take your keyboard.

  • Peek any time.

    The island shows the window she’s in, live, with her cursor. Watch shows every window at once.

  • Many hands.

    Ask again while she works. Each request runs on its own, side by side.

  • Yours in a click.

    Click or type in a window she’s using and she pauses. Take over, or tell her what to change.

From the film: a paper phone on Jake’s desk showing the text Ada sent to Nora, with a heart from her. Ada’s card: Tell Nora I’ll be home by seven, and I’m bringing dumplings. Sent to Nora from your iPhone.

Your phone, too

Ada can use your phone.

Plug your iPhone or Android phone in once, and from then on Ada can use it over Wi‑Fi. Ask her to send a text, change a setting or find something, and watch the phone’s screen in her card while she works.

  • Nothing to install on the phone
  • A one-time setup she walks you through
  • She never types your passcode

The whole computer

Everything you do all day, made calm.

Ada isn’t an app on top of something else. It’s the desktop, the everyday apps and everything underneath, designed to feel like one thing.

Every window on one wall. Switching apps, rethought: your windows land on a curved wall, and you pick one at a glance.
Ask why it broke. When a command fails, Ada explains what went wrong and offers to fix it.
Ada’s Terminal after a mistyped command, with a chip offering: Why did that fail? Fix it.
Answers, properly set. Maths, code and tables come back the way a book would print them.
A chat with Ada: an integral worked out step by step, typeset as mathematics.
Apps that belong together. Files, Photos, Notes, a browser, a PDF editor and a video studio, all made for Ada.
Ada’s Photos app showing a library of landscape pictures.
Talk it through. Say “Hey Ada” and just talk. She answers out loud, and gets on with it while you talk.
Ada’s voice pill listening: What’s on my calendar this afternoon?
Widgets she makes. “Show me if I need a jacket.” Ada builds the widget, and it keeps itself up to date.
A desktop widget Ada made: Jacket today? Yes. Rain from 6 pm, 11°.

And there’s more.

  • Writes like you.

    As you type, a grey suggestion finishes the sentence the way you would. It learns from your writing, on your PC.

  • Dictation anywhere.

    Hold a key and talk into any text box. Your words appear as you speak, transcribed on your PC.

  • Routines.

    “Every weekday at 7:30, brief me.” Say it once, and it happens.

  • Logins she never sees.

    In Ada’s browser, she signs you in from your saved logins without ever seeing a password.

  • Your other computers.

    Pair a cloud server or a GPU box. Its files show up in Files, and its terminal opens signed in.

  • Coding agents, side by side.

    Run Claude Code, Codex and Ada on several tasks at once, each in its own copy of your project. You review before anything merges.

Peace of mind

Help you can trust.

  • You’re in charge.

    Ada asks before anything that matters, and shows every step while she works.

  • Your AI, your choice.

    Use the ChatGPT or Claude plan you already pay for, or bring your own keys.

  • Keep Windows.

    Install Ada from Windows and it sits alongside. Pick which to start, or remove Ada later.

  • Bring your Windows apps.

    Many Windows programs open right on Ada, each in a tidy space of its own.

  • Updates that undo themselves.

    Ada updates quietly. If a new version ever misbehaves, she goes back to the last good one on her own.

  • Only what you allow.

    Ada sees only the folders and apps you let her, and keeps what she remembers on your computer.

Watercolour portrait of Ada Lovelace, around 1840, in a lilac dress and black lace shawl, holding a fan.
Ada Lovelace, by Alfred Edward Chalon, c. 1840. Science Museum Group.

Why today

Why we’re opening on Ada Lovelace Day

“It can do whatever we know how to order it to perform.”

Ada Lovelace, on the Analytical Engine, 1843

She wrote that in the notes that held what’s often called the first computer program, for a machine that was never built.

For the 183 years since, knowing how to order it has been the hard part. With Ada, you just say what you need. So today, on Ada Lovelace Day, we’re opening the waitlist.

Be one of the first.

We’re letting people in a few at a time. Join the waitlist, and we’ll write when it’s your turn.

One email when it’s your turn, and the odd note about the launch. Nothing else.