The Flow Fest turns campus into a space for healing

Shifa was close to skipping the event. With piles of assignments and the semester nearing its end, there seemed to be no time to pause. Attending a wellness festival felt like a luxury—far from urgent.

But by mid-afternoon, she found herself in the middle of a dance circle at BRAC University—laughing with people she had met just a day earlier, moving in ways she hadn't expected, and feeling something shift.

"I did not realise how much I needed this," she said later, still slightly out of breath. "The dance sessions—especially the Havana salsa—helped me let go in a way I haven't in a long time."

"You are always in your head—thinking about studies, the future," she added. "Here, I could actually step out of that, even if just for a while."

Over two days—22 and 23 April—more than a thousand students from 10 universities came together for the 3rd National Youth Wellness Festival, organised by The Flow Fest and co-presented with Prime Now. It brought students under one umbrella to move, speak, and connect in ways rarely prioritised on campus.

A different kind of gathering

From the beginning, the festival felt unlike a typical university programme.

Instead of long passive lectures, the format moved between panels, movement sessions, small group discussions, and creative activities.

Israfil Khosru, founder of youth-led think tank, The Bangladeshi and a member of the Bangladesh Cricket Board's ad-hoc committee, opened the festival by emphasising self-awareness as the starting point of leadership — a theme that carried through both days.

The early sessions focused on the pressures young people often carry quietly: academic stress, digital burnout, financial anxiety, and uncertainty about the future. However, the interactive session could not keep the conversation theoretical for long.

From listening to moving

As the hours passed, the tone of the festival shifted.

Students who had started the day listening to discussions were soon on their feet — joining self-defence and fencing sessions, trying out pickleball, and stepping into dance workshops, from hip-hop to Havana salsa.

The energy in the room changed from quiet attention to movement, laughter, and release.

For many, this was unfamiliar.

"We do not usually have spaces like this," said Tanvir Hasan, a student from IUBAT. "The sessions made it easier to open up. I made new friends, learnt how to express myself better, and realised there is a lot I still need to unlearn about mental health."

Sharing as a form of healing

At the centre of the festival were the "shareapy" sessions — a concept that blends sharing with elements of therapy.

In small, guided circles facilitated by mental health professionals, students were encouraged to speak openly and listen without judgment. Within a simple structure, effects were clearly passed.

Conversations that might never happen in classrooms or common rooms began to unfold — about stress, expectations, relationships, and the pressure to appear fine.

For many participants, the realisation that others felt the same way was as important as speaking itself.

No single way to feel better

The "Healing Hour" expanded that idea further.

Spread across multiple activity stations, it offered students different ways to engage — through art, movement, yoga, conversation, or quiet reflection. Some painted or wrote, others gravitated toward dance, fencing, or guided movement sessions. There were also moments of stillness — a pause in a space that usually demands constant output.

The message was simple: there is no single way to heal. And for students used to rigid systems, that flexibility felt new.

Hard conversations, honestly held

The second day brought a deeper dive into topics often left unspoken.

A panel on addiction and mental health created space for an honest discussion about struggles that are frequently hidden or misunderstood. Rather than offering easy answers, the conversation focused on recognising challenges and understanding the process of recovery.

It was one of the moments where the room fell completely still — not out of discomfort, but attention.

Connection, not just content

Across both days, one pattern repeated itself. Students who arrived with their own groups slowly began to mix with each other. Conversations extended beyond sessions and socials were exchanged.

The structured programme gradually felt like something more organic — a temporary community built around shared experience.

Ending in a different place

Both days closed with music — first a sing-along session with Black Bus, then a live performance by Vintage Theory.

But by then, the performances felt secondary to what had already happened.

The shift was quieter. Students who had arrived carrying stress, expectations, and hesitation were leaving with something less visible but more lasting — a sense that they were not alone, and that there are ways to cope that do not involve pushing everything aside.

For Shifa, that shift was enough.

"I came here thinking I would just attend and leave," she said. "But I am leaving with new people, new experiences, and a different state of mind."

More than a festival

For Shazia Omar, founder of The Flow Fest, the response reflects a larger reality. "Young people are ready for these conversations," she said. "They just need spaces where they feel safe enough to have them." In Bangladesh, where mental health is still often pushed to the margins, that kind of space is rare.

For two days at BRAC University, it existed.