In the harsh yellow streetlight, you could just see the old wooden sign that read "Toys" on the door of a quaint shop. Snow lined the windows, which gave out a warm glow.

Inside, Sasha sat in the corner with her cat and watched her father paint a toy soldier he had spent hours working on. Sasha looked at the clock. Half-past midnight. This was even later than he had stayed up last night, and she knew his working hours would only grow longer as Christmas came near.

Sasha was now 12. Since her mother had died seven years ago, her father had been her sole caretaker. Though she missed her mother, she and her father were the best of friends. He had raised her with all the love he had and taught her the joy of giving and how to always do her best as a way of sharing love.

He himself worked tirelessly and passionately on his toys and never settled for anything less than perfection, even during the busiest time of the year. This had been an especially good year, and the townspeople were ready to spoil their children.

As she grew older, Sasha had watched her father's eyes grow tired and his fingers grow clumsier, but he never complained and he never turned away requests for special toys.

Sasha wanted to give her father a gift as special as the ones he made for everyone else. She couldn't make toys the way her father did, and she doubted he wanted another one of those anyway. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't make anything the way he could. He cooked, he fixed her shoes, he mended her clothes when she tore them, just the way he sewed the garments he put on his puppets. He did everything her mother would have done, if she had lived. If she could do all of those things, her father would be able to spend more time on his toys and finish earlier.

But Christmas was only 10 days away, not enough time to learn all of those things and help him with the toy orders. And, if she were to learn those things, she'd have to do it without him knowing, or it wouldn't be a surprise. She thought as hard as she could. She would focus on doing one thing; do one thing as well as her father did it, or, better yet, her mother.

Sasha remembered how every year, on her father's birthday, her mother made the most fabulous chocolate cake. Every year, her mother would bring it out and her father would say to her, "My dear, it takes a truly beautiful woman to make such a lovely cake."

That was it. Sasha would make the best cake ever, to show her father how much she loved him.

The next day, Sasha went to the bakery down the street, and asked Mrs. Strudel if she had a recipe for chocolate cake. Sasha explained her idea to make the best cake for her father. Mrs. Strudel was touched by the girl's sweet intentions — she herself had often seen the joy that the toy maker brought to the children in the town — and offered Sasha full use of her recipe books, and any help that she might need.

Every day for the next two weeks, Sasha went to Mrs. Strudel's bakery and tried the most appealing recipes in search of the one perfect cake. Sasha let Mrs. Strudel sell the rest of her cake as thanks for the use of the oven. On the day before Christmas Eve, Sasha finally found her perfect cake. Even Mrs. Strudel had to admit that it was the lightest and sweetest chocolate cake she had ever tasted.

So, on Christmas Eve, Sasha visited all the shops and found everything she needed for her perfect cake. When she had put the cake in the oven and started to make the icing, she heard her father call her from his tool shop.

"My dear," he said to Sasha, "Will you try this little sled I've made? I want to make sure it's perfect before I give it away."

It was a beautiful sled, sleek and shiny, and it was such fun! Sasha stayed on the snow-covered hill until the sun was nearly down. Her father watched her laughing and sledding with a smile on his face. Finally, she came back up the hill.

"It is the most beautiful sled I've ever seen or ridden, Papa." She exclaimed, "Whoever gets it will be very lucky."

"Alright then," said her father, "You go into the house while I put the final touches on it."

As Sasha walked into the house, thinking of what fun she had, she smelled something burning. The cake! She had forgotten all about it! Even before she got to the oven, she knew it was too late to save the cake. It was black and crisp, and it was too late to make another. Even if she decided to serve it on Christmas Day instead, the shops had closed for the holiday.

Sasha hid the burnt cake in the cupboard and ran to the bakery. Mrs. Strudel had already gone home, so Sasha turned and ran toward the Strudels' home. Mrs. Strudel had been cooking her own family's Christmas dinner when Sasha came running to her doorstep with tears in her eyes. When she had spilled the whole story, Mrs. Strudel calmly told Sasha to follow her into the kitchen. Mrs. Strudel opened her own oven and pulled out the same chocolate cake, not even iced yet.

"I used the recipe you chose," said Mrs. Strudel. "It was going to be for my family, but you may take it home and ice it yourself."

"Oh, thank you!" stammered Sasha. "But I can't take your family's cake, Mrs. Strudel."

"Sasha, your love for your father inspires all of us," said Mrs. Strudel. "It's my pleasure to give it to you."

Sasha thanked Mrs. Strudel again and again, and then she brought the cake home and finished her icing. The Christmas Eve dinner was always the most celebrated in their house. Her father cooked a wonderful meal, and after dinner they gave their Christmas surprises. Sasha wanted to go first this year. She brought out the magnificent cake, just as her mother did when she was little.

"Papa," she said to him, "from now on I am going to take care of the house for you. I can do the cooking and the cleaning for a start. You won't have to work so hard if we can work together."

Her father's eyes watered. He kissed Sasha and exclaimed over the fine cake. Then, he went to the closet and brought out the shiny new sled with Sasha's name carved into it. Sasha was overjoyed, but she felt bad about the cake.

"But Papa," she said, "It isn't my cake. My cake burned in the oven. Mrs. Strudel gave me hers."

Her father only looked at her lovingly and said, "My dear, you put your love into it, I can tell. And do not worry about my working, it is my job to take care of you, and I enjoy every second. It takes a truly beautiful soul to make such a lovely Christmas."

Editor's note: The Asian-fusion restaurant L'Uraku (1341 Kapi'olani Blvd., 955-0552) has generously gifted our fiction contest winners with $50 gift certificates.