What makes a ritual feel real?

I was watching my neighbour light a candle every evening at 6:17, just before the streetlamp flickers on. It’s not religious, not even particularly dramatic—just a tiny pause, a breath. But I’ve been wondering: is it the repetition that makes it sacred, or the fact that no one else sees it? I once studied a ceremony where people threw stones into a river, saying nothing. The silence after each throw felt heavier than any prayer. What’s the threshold between habit and meaning? And why do I still think about that moment?