Develop logline and synopsis for this short story: "The scent of banh chung (sticky rice cakes), and thit kho tau (braised pork with duck eggs) fills the cosy living room. Hiền, a petite, elderly woman reclined in a plush armchair, a contented smile gracing her lips. 
Her daughter, Nguyệt, knelt beside her, carefully adjusting the silk áo dài (a traditional Vietnamese long dress) adorned with elegant blue daffodil patterns. The fabric flowed gracefully over Hiền’s wrinkled frame. Meanwhile, Nguyệt’s husband, Cường, playfully wrestled with their two young children, Minh and Nhi, who giggled uncontrollably as they squirmed free from his grasp. 
“Don’t be such monkeys,” Nguyệt chided playfully.
Minh, the older of the two, with his shock of black hair that mirrored his father’s, shot his sister a mischievous grin before darting towards the peach blossom tree that occupied a corner of the room. Nhi, a wisp of a girl with her mother’s dark eyes, toddled after him, her tiny hand clutching a red envelope.
Laughter erupted once more as Minh fumbled with a red envelope perched precariously on a branch, finally managing to snag it. He tore it open with a flourish, revealing nothing inside. Nhi squealed with delight, her chubby fingers clutching at a similar envelope that her father dangled in front of her.
“Careful, darling,” Hiền cautioned. Her gaze kept landing on the children. Suddenly, her eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted slightly, lips parted as if to speak but no words came out.
The doorbell’s chime cut through the air, momentarily silencing the room. Cường rose and hurried towards the doorway. A chorus of greetings filled the air as Hiền’s son, Thái, and his wife, Vân, entered, ushering in a wave of warm hugs and excited chatter.
Thái, tall and broad-shouldered, knelt before Hiền. He extended a small, beautifully wrapped box towards her. His eyes held a warmth, a mirror image of his late father's.
Hiền, upon seeing the warmth in Thái's eyes, her chest rose and fell, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“Happy Tet, Ma,” he said, emotions thickening his voice.
Her face beamed, wrinkles deepening as she smiled.
“Happy Tet, my dear son. Gifts or no, having you here is more than enough.”
Thái chuckled, shaking his head slightly, “It’s Tet, Ma.”
As the evening wore on, the house overflowed with joy. Bowls of stuffed bitter melon soup, dishes of pickled leeks and shallots and spring rolls, were passed around the table. Stories were exchanged, memories recounted, and plans for the coming year made.

 - Later -
The children were asleep on the sofa. The adults lingered around the table, sipping steaming cups of green tea. The conversation turned nostalgic.
Hiền’s eyes twinkled as she recounted a particularly chaotic Tet from her childhood.  “Your uncle Quang once set off a firecracker inside the house. Nearly scared the life out of your poor grandma.”
A wave of amused chuckles swept across the table.
As the night deepened, drowsiness began to claim them. One by one, they bid farewell and make their way out, leaving behind a lingering warmth and the promise of another gathering soon.
Hiền, however, remained seated long after the last guest had departed. A lone tear traced a path down her wrinkled cheek. The once vibrant scene had faded, replaced by the stark silence of her empty living room.
She looked down at her lap, her fingers clutching the worn red envelope nestled in her hands. A wave of desolation washed over her. Where is everyone? Why am I alone?
Suddenly, a gentle hand rested on her shoulder. A young woman with a kind smile stood beside her.
“Time for bed, Grandma,” the woman said softly.
Hiền looked up at her, a frown creasing her brow. “Who are you?” she questioned, her voice laced with confusion.
“I’m Nhi, Grandma,” she replied, noticing Hiền’s confusion. “Your cute, little, beloved granddaughter.”
“Nhi?” Hiền echoed, the name softly escaping her lips, flitting away like a butterfly. The faces of her loved ones were like pieces of a puzzle, jumbling and falling away before they could form a complete picture. Her hands shook subtly. Her eyes darted around, searching for something just out of reach. Again, the faces of her family seemed like elusive pieces of a puzzle refusing to stay in place.
Her gaze fell upon the doorway. A jumble of shoes – slippers, sneakers, dress shoes, children’s shoes – a familiar sight that spoke of a bustling household.
The young woman, noticing the change in Hiền’s demeanour, knelt down and gathered two bright pink well-worn flip-flops that had been scattered. With care, she placed them onto the pile – a silent reminder of family, laughter, and a life that the elderly woman could only glimpse through the hazy veil of her dementia.
An embroidery on the young woman’s scrub top indicated her name: “Trần Ngọc Thuỷ Tiên”.
Outside, the neon sign of the building flickered against the inky sky: “Vĩnh Tâm Care Centre”.
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