Everyday, about everything they encountered, everything they felt. Everything people around them felt.
And he would listen patiently, reading even the slightest tremors of their petals, of their leaves, and console them in their distress some of the people's emotion caused them. The only one who's ever understood them and talked to them, treated them like living, breathing beings, practically his equals. The only one, their very precious one.
Until one day, just like that, the other one appeared. His touch not so soft, his palms slightly roughened with callouses, yet not lacking the same gentleness and understanding. This one is not as good in feeling what they want to tell him, but he's trying and does not disregard them as nothing more than pretty decoration, like the rest of the humans here do.
Sometimes though, sometimes, the roses feel the same seclusion as they would whenever their one important human go away for a time being; even though he's still here with them, here, in their greenhouse. Because the other one's here, too.
Yes, the roses feel they're not being listened to when both of them are here, their dear ones, deaf to their whispering every now and then.
... whenever they listen to and feel only each other.