Wind whistled down the twisting streets of the unique town that stood itself near the outskirts of Australia's very own city of Sydney. The icy sharp tang in the air travelling with the strong breeze that wavered its way past the buildings built on the land. It travelled all the way through the winding roads and pathways until it sneaked its way through the cracks of the closed door of a bookshop that lived in the coziest of crooks of the town.

It brushed the pages of a few books, flicked in between the stories upon the many shelves, around the plants that had been hung from place to place and up the spiralling staircases built by the aesthetically pleasing combination of dark oak wood and a metal that had been painted black, until it reached the very top floor of the building.

It breathed itself into slowly the warm and comfortable bedroom of a man named Felix Lee, the owner of the very bookshop. It shuddered him not particularly softly awake from his slumber and escaped back out through his window that had been left slightly ajar.

Felix let out a yawn, checking his clock that sat on his cluttered bedside table. 7am, the perfect time for Felix to wake up, get ready and shower, along with having something to eat and drink - before he opened his beloved shop for the day.

Every day was the very same; wake up; get ready; open the shop; run the shop; close the shop; make some food; eat the food; go to bed. He essentially lived his life like a broken record, the same thing just repeating itself over and over again without stopping.

Don't get me wrong, he loved it more than anything else. Running the shop was his life, his heart and his soul. But sometimes it got a bit frustrating sitting on that record player and spinning round and round with no visible end. We couldn't help but yearn for a new song to play. A new chapter to begin. Just one more, something new.

But that wasn't happening, and so Felix stood up and stretched his arms - almost reaching his fairly low ceiling. He made his bed, laying out the green and brown patterned sheets and blankets back over it to reset and start again. Before he then wandered slowly across his room, feeling the texture of his various rugs that lived upon his bedroom floor against his bare feet as he headed towards his wardrobe to decide what he wished to wear that day.

He picked out one of his favourite button-up shirts, the one that was a faded forest green with butterflies coloured shades of a green like sage and olive all across it. He chose a simple, slightly darker than beige, knitted vest to go over it (and quickly grabbed a long-sleeved shirt to adorn beneath it all, for warmth on a January day like that one). He then placed some gentle brown high-waisted jeans, paired with a plain black belt, upon his legs which he paired with his usual dark brown boots.

He tied his flowing black hair, which fell so far down his back it nearly brushed against the back of his thighs, into a light, messy bun to keep it out of his face - although he pulled a few stray hairs out of it so they would frame his freckled features. Sometimes he would wonder whether or not he should dye it a new colour or cut it to a shorter length, but he never felt much of a reason as to why he should. There was no point if the same old story was to keep being told from start to finish on repeat.

Half the day had drifted away from him, noon swinging into view faster than the pages of the open books in the window displays would flick through when a gust of wind came through the entrance.

A few people stopped in, the odd person peered down the wide alleyway-like path that would lead you to the shop - to see what was down there - and a young woman bought a book.

She'd smiled, a soft smile. The kind of smile you get when somebody who doesn't smile often feels at peace or at home somewhere. She showed her appreciation towards Felix's kindness and his help to find the book she had been searching for. She asked about who owned the place and seemed slightly surprised when Felix explained it was himself. Although that was a common reaction Felix was used to, he was the kind of person who you'd think was living in the wrong era. She said her name was Hannah, and that she was going to recommend the shop to her brother who's a supposed 'book fanatic' and apparently was an aspiring author too. Felix said he'd keep an eye and ear out for anyone who looked a little bit like her who would come in.

The day travels quickly, time whistles past like the January breeze. Felix would sigh, realise how the day had passed. He'd feel at peace, feel thankful, feel sad, feel frustrated and he'd go to bed. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow he'd be longing for another day to come for more than just a second chance. Maybe tomorrow, something would change. Something would feel less like a record player in need of fixing, and more like the piano Felix kept in the corner of his bedroom.

Maybe tomorrow the wind won't shake him awake. Maybe it'll wake him up more carefully. Maybe it'll be kind to his gentle soul when very few people seemed to be.

Maybe tomorrow, he wouldn't want to close the book. Maybe he wouldn't want to end the series. It's not a best seller, nobody cares anyhow. Maybe tomorrow, something will make him so lost in the story, so in love with the tale that he would beg for the time for just one more chapter.

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